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To. 


THE  EVEBGREEN. 


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CHRISTMAS,    NEW   YEAR, 


BIRTHDAY  GIFT. 


K  t  to    ¥  o  r  & : 

LEAVITT  &  ALLEN,  379  BROADWAY. 


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ILLUSTRATIONS. 


-♦♦♦- 


REVERIE,    ----.._    Feontispikos. 
PRESENTATION  PLATE,    -        -        -    Before  Title. 

INNOCENCE,       -  13 

THE  WREATH, 104 

WAR,  -        -        -        ...        .        -    •    -    m 

POCAHONTAS,  -  .    210 


M64477 


CONTENTS 


Pag* 

Proem.— By  the  Editor 

_  v 

Preface 

The  Spiritual  Vitality  of  the  Truth,  considered  in  its  rela- 
tion to  Christian  Missions.-*?  the  Rev.  J.  W.  Alexander,  D.D..-      1 

The  First  Missionary—  By  Mrs.  Lydia  H.  Sigourney 13 

Woman,  the  Gospel  Messenger—  By  Mrs.  E.  R.  Steele 16 

A  Memorial—  By  John  G.  Whittier 31 

The  Reciprocal  Influence  of  Missions.—*?  the  Rev.  Erskine  Ma- 
ll 
son,  D.  D 

The  Captive.— By  James  Russell  Lowell 

52 

The  Winds.—*?  Harry  Franco 

The  Sisters'  Grave.—*?  the  Author  of  "  Pen  and  Ink  Sketches." 61 

Moheagan  Missions.— By  Miss  F.  M.  Caulkins 64 

Pity.—*?  the  Rev.  Ralph  Hoyt 10° 

Sonnet— *?  #.  T.  Tv.ckerm.an 104 

Burmah.— *?  the  Rev.  Eugenio  Kincaid 1°5 

Mary  at  the  Sepulchre.—*?  Miss  Hannah  F.  Gould 1522 

The  Debt  of  Perishing  Humanity  to  Redeeming  Deity 124 

The  Missionary  Spirit.—*?  the  Rev.  Henry  Bacon 131 

Missionary  in  the  New  Wtestern  Settlements.—*?  Mrs.  Lydia  H. 

14w2 

Sigourney  

Almost  There,  or,  the  Missionary's  Death.—*?  Rev.  fohn  Dowling.  146 

Th*  Consecration.— By  the  Rev.  Henry  Bacon 165 

Indian  Missions.— By  John  M.  Peck I58 

The  Ship.—*?  William  W.  Lord I74 

The  Genius  of  War  as  contrasted  with  that  of  Christianity.—*? 

J.  Lawrence  De  Graw ■ I77 

Pocahontas.— By  W.Gilmore  Simms 1" 

Mary's  Charm.— By  Anna  Cora  Mowatt 220 

Selfishness.—*?  Miss  E.JaneCate 221 


CONTENTS. 

Sonnet  -The  first  Lock  of  Gray  Hair.— By  Thomas  W.  Rennc 234 

Be  True  to  Thyself.— By  the  Rev.  Rufus  W.  Griswold 235 

The  Turk  and  kis  Dominions.— By  the  Rev.  S.  W.  Fisher,  A.  J\I 236 

Recovery  from  Sickness 249 

Thk  Last  Interview.— By  Mrs.  Lydia  Baxter - 250 


^tam. 


Not  vainly  by  the  way-side  bloomed  the  flowers 

Whose  seed  were  scattered  by  a  hand  Divine; 
They  breathe  their  perfume  to  the  passing  hours, 

And  with  sweet  lessons  of  His  love  they  shine. 
So  from  the  seeds  of  grace  which  God  hath  sown 

Deep  in  the  hearts  of  those  who  love  his  Word, 
Have  sprung  Memorial  Flowers  which  here  are  shown 

In  honor  of  the  Servants  of  our  Lord. 
These  will  impart  the  sweetness  of  a  love 

That  joys  to  own  all  sacrifice  for  Truth 
And  may  these  gifts  lift  every  heart  above, 

As  soars  the  eagle  to  renew  its  youth  ! 
Till  we  aspire  to  serve  that  work  divine 
Along  whose  paths  these  lights  of  glory  shine. 

Editor. 


PREFACE 


The  plan  of  this  work  being  new,  and  distinct 
from  that  of  any  previous  production, — differing 
from  the  series  of  Annuals,  its  contents  being  of 
a  more  substantial  and  permanent  character, — it 
is  confidently  hoped  it  will  meet  with  that  share 
of  attention  from  the  entire  Christian  commu- 
nity, which  the  claims  of  an  experiment  so  costly 
in  its  preparation  deserve,  and  that  it  will  prove 
admirably  suited  as  a  religious  gift-book  for  the 
season. 


TOIE    [EWIE^ffitMEftD, 


Sire  Sjiriteal  WMty  0f  tire  ttnrtfc 

CONSIDERED  IN  ITS  RELATION  TO  CHRISTIAN  MISSIONS. 
BY  THE  EEV.  J.  W.  ALEXANDER,  D.  D. 

The  grain  of  mustard-seed,  less  than  all  the  seeds 
which  be  in  the  earth,  but  which  groweth  up,  and 
becometh  greater  than  all  herbs,  and  shooteth  out 
great  branches,  so  that  the  fowls  of  the  air  lodge  un 
der  its  shadow,  is  a  blessed  missionary  emblem 
(Mark  iv.  31,  32.)  All  Christian  progress,  from  the 
beginning  to  the  end,  is  typified  by  this  development : 
it  is  our  encouragement  in  the  seed-time  of  the  Gos- 
pel. That  which  the  Church  is  scattering,  by  books 
and  ministers,  is  not  an  inoperative  principle.  It  is 
living ;  it  has  a  propagative  virtue  ;  it  perpetuates 
life  •  for  it  is  seed.  As  a  means,  in  the  hand  of  the 
Spirit,  without  which  no  mind  receives  it,  the  word 
of  God  liveth  and  abideth  forever.     (1  Pet.  i.  24.) 

This  principle  of   germination   and  increase  de- 


VITALITY    OF    THE    TRUTH. 


serves  serious  attention,  especially  m  regard  to  a 
great  distinction ;  namely,  that  which  subsists  be- 
tween a  dead  accretion  and  a  living  development,  or 
between  a  structure  and  a  growth.  A  fabric  of  art  has 
no  life.  Though  it  be  a  pyramid,  a  Parthenon,  or  a 
Cathedral  of  Cologne,  it  stands — so  long  as  it  stands 
at  all — only  a3  it  was  built.  It  may  be  preserved, 
rep?i.rea,  enlarged,  beautified  ;  but  it  remains  in  brute 
quietude.  Thd  principle  of  the  whole  mass,  how- 
ever vast  or  exquisite,  is  this  :  one  stone  upon  an 
other.  No  art  can  produce  any  tendency  towards 
vital  force.  No  bud  or  blossom  ever  burst  forth  from 
amidst  the  carved  foliage  of  the  vine  or  olive  of  those 
glorious  Gothic  piers.  But  that  which  grows,  is  es- 
sentially living.  It  may  be  the  merest  winged  seed 
of  the  dandelion  or  the  thistle  :  yet  it  swells,  and 
gathers  force,  and  elaborates  matter  in  due  form,  and 
evolves  its  like. 

The  truth  of  God,  under  a  spiritual  agency,  is  a 
living  principle.  When  cast  into  soil,  it  is  not  buried, 
as  if  it  were  only  a  dead  coin,  or  a  jewel  of  gold,  or 
a  diamond,  but  awakes  to  new  forms  of  vigorous 
beauty,  like  a  precious  seed.  To  this  character  of 
the  truth,  all  the  Christianity  now  in  the  world  owes 
its  prevalence  :  and  where  the  Holy  Spirit  breathes 
on  it,  every  particle  of  this  truth  possesses  a  like 
power.  It  is  this  which  emboldens  us  to  send  the 
Gospel  where  it  has  never  been  planted. 

In  the  Age  of  Missions,  as  the  primitive  age  may 


VITALITY  OF  THE  TRUTH,  3 

be  emphatically  called,  this  was  the  encouragement  ■ 
t  was  derived  from  the  words  and  acts  of  our  blessed 
Redeemer  himself.  He  serenely  dropped  this  seed 
in  the  earth,  declaring  its  expansive  nature.  Under 
other  images  he  taught  that  it  would  abide  and 
spread  :  for  it  was  salt,  and  leaven,  and  light. 

When  Ave  multiply  works  of  art,  the  process  is 
slow,  and  the  series  is  arithmetical :  but  living  things 
increase  in  a  high  geometrical  ratio.  Botanists  tell  us 
that  the  most  vulgar  of  our  yellow  meadow-flowers  is 
not  indigenous  in  America  ;  but  now  it  enamels  all  our 
plains,  and  is  carried  on  its  downy  vehicle  beyond 
the  Rocky  Mountains.  It  is  so  with  the  harvests  of 
the  South.  Maria  d'Escobar,  a  Spanish  lady,  first 
brought  a  few  grains  of  wheat  into  the  city  of  Lima. 
For  three  years,  she  distributed  their  produce  among 
the  colonists,  giving  twenty  or  thirty  grains  to  each 
farmer.  Maria  d'Escobar,  says  Mackintosh,  brought 
»nto  existence  more  human  beings  by  this  supply  of 
food,  than  Napoleon  has  destroyed.  In  so  doing, 
she  typified  the  work  of  missions.  Had  she  built  a 
thousand  monasteries  in  Peru,  they  would  have  been 
only  a  thousand,  even  now.  But  she  did  not  build — 
she  planted.  From  such  small  and  contemptible  be- 
ginnings, the  great  harvests  of  Christianity  arise  ; 
and  the  extent  and  glory  of  the  Church,  in  the  latter 
day,  will  be  the  result  of  a  like  plantation.  There 
shall  be  a  handful  of  corn  in  the  earth  upon  thagtop 
Df  the  mountains  ;  the  fruit  thereof  shall  shake  like 


4  VITALITY    OF    THE   TRUTH. 

Lebanon:    and  they  of  the  city  shall  nourish  like 
grass  of  the  earth.     (Ps.  lxxii.  16.) 

The  solitary  missionary  carries  his  handful  oi 
seed-corn,  as  did  the  solitary  apostle.  He  has  the 
same  authority,  and  should  entertain  the  same  hope. 
The  truth  with  which  we  deal  is  not  only  living,  but 
abiding.  The  Spirit  and  the  Truth  are  given  in 
union,  first  to  Messiah,  and  then  to  his  people,  to  re- 
main forever :  As  for  me,  this  is  my  covenant  with 
them,  saith  the  Lord  ;  my  Spirit  that  is  upon  thee, 
and  my  words  which  I  have  put  in  thy  mouth,  shall 
not  depart  out  of  thy  mouth,  nor  out  of  the  mouth 
of  thy  seed,  nor  out  of  the  mouth  of  thy  seed's  seed, 
saith  the  Lord,  from  henceforth  and  forever.  (Isa. 
lix.  21.)  The  covenant  promise  is  realizing  itself 
every  day.  If  our  eyes  were  opened,  we  might  trace 
the  stream  of  life,  threading  its  silver  way,  like  the 
fabled  Arethusa,  through  oceans  of  ignorance,  idola- 
try, and  crime.  We  might  trace  the  now  unseen 
links  from  father  to  son,  and  from  lineage  to  lineage. 
And  perhaps  we  might  often  discover  that  the  piety, 
which  seemed  to  us  insulated  and  transient,  was  con- 
nected with  the  faith  and  love  of  foregoing  ages. 
We  know  not  the  channel  which  brought  the  truth  to 
Augustine ;  but  we  know  that  he,  being  dead,  yet 
speaketh.  Church  history  does  not  now  enable  us 
to  record  the  transmission,  from  apostolic  clays,  of 
thayaith  which  dwelt  in  Monica  of  Tagaste.  But 
the  child  of  her  prayers  carried  forward  the  line  "f 


VITALITY  OF  THE  TRUTH.  5 

•ropagation,  and  sowed,  broad-cast,  the  seed  which  is 
still  increasing.  After  fourteen  centuries,  we  find  the 
very  words  which  he  penned  in  Africa,  exerting  their 
vivifying  power  in  Saxony,  in  Switzerland,  and  in 
America.  They  wrought  in  Luther,  and  led  him,  by 
a  great  change  of  opinion,  to  prefer  Augustine  to  all 
the  Fathers.  They  wrought  in  Calvin,  whose  name 
has  been  given  to  the  scheme  of  truth  which  was 
thus  suggested.  How  many  thousands  have  derived 
the  same  doctrines — whether  Augustinian  or  Pauline 
—from  the  writings  of  the  two  great  Reformers  ' 
The  quiet  valleys  of  this  western  world,  sometimes 
even  in  the  absence  of  all  evangelical  preaching, 
have  received  the  truth  from  the  Augustinian  work 
Let  a  single  instance  suffice.  It  is  now  more  than 
a  hundred  years,  since  the  county  of  Hanover,  in 
Virginia,  was  the  theatre  of  remarkable  religious 
awakening.  The  parish-sermons  in  the  established 
church,  at  that  time,  gave  but  an  uncertain  sound. 
But  among  the  books  of  a  certain  old  disciple,  Morris 
oy  name,  was  a  copy  of  Luther  on  the  Galatians. 
He  gathered  his  neighbors  for  prayer  and  praise,  and 
read  aloud  from  this  and  other  good  books.  It  was 
a  sowing  of  the  seed.  Souls  were  converted.  Soon 
after,  the  living  preacher  was  sent  to  them  in  the 
person  of  Whitefield  :  at  a  later  period  the  great 
Samuel  Davies  became  their  minister.  These  all 
walked  in  the  same  spirit — in  the  same  steps,  (2 
Cor.  xii.    18;}  dispensing  the   same    precious    truth 


6  VITALITY    OF    THE    TRUTH 

which  had  been  the  life  of  Paul,  of  Augustine,  and 
of  Luther.* 

There  is  a  resurrection-power  in  truth,  under  the 
beams  of  spiritual  light  and  heat.  It  is  the  vitality 
of  genuine  growth  ;  as  in  the  celebrated  instance  of 
seeds,  disinterred  from  the  mumrny-cases  of  Egypt, 
which,  after  twenty  centuries,  have  germinated  in 
tht,  hot-houses  of  British  naturalists.  Let  us  not 
despise  the  means  which  we  are  employing ;  for  the 
humblest  missionary,  who  goes  forth  weeping,  bears 
with  him  the  precious  seed  which  may  endure  and 
grow  until  the  second  appearing  of  the  Lord. 

If  we  look  at  the  nature  of  this  truth,  we  shall 
find  a  new  reason  for  sowing  in  hope,  even  in  dis- 
tant lands.  It  is  the  "  Word  of  Life,"  which  we 
"hold  forth."  It  reveals  Him  who  is  "the  Life." 
That  which  every  true  missionary  endeavors  to  intro- 
duce, is  Christ.  And  where  Christ  is  received,  cne 
series  does  not  stop.  The  flame  is  communicative. 
This  religion  kindles,  "like  a  torch  of  fire  in  a  sheaf." 
(Zech.  xii.  6.)  Men  die,  but  the  flame  survives  :  as 
in  the  ancient  game  of  the  Greeks,  called  the  Lam- 
padephoria,  a  race  in  which  a  torch  was  carried  for- 
ward by  one,  and  then  handed  to  another,  and  so  to 
another,  until  the  goal  was  reached.!  By  just  such 
transmission  the  light  has  come  to  us.  Successive 
teachings  and  successive  sacraments  do  "  show  forth 

*  Hodge's  History,  vol.  II.  p.  45.  t  Herodotus,  viii  98. 


VITALITY  OF  THE  TRUTH.  7 

the  Lord's  death  till  he  come."     Who  was  the  first 
missionary  among  the  glens  of  the  Vaudois,  we  know 

not ;  but  we   know  what   seed   he  carried,  for  it  is 
there  still.     Can  any  dare  to  predict,  that  the  like 
effect  shall  not  follow  a  like  cause  in  Greenland,  in 
Burmah,  or  in  Hawaii  ?     Such  distrust  had  been  ex- 
cusable in  the  first  missionaries  from  Jerusalem,  but 
not  in  us.     The  first  seed  sown  outside  of  Eden,  by 
Adam  and  Eve,  may  have  seemed  hopelessly  buried  ; 
but   they  were  reassured  by  subsequent  harvests  : 
and  we  are  eating  the  fruit  of  their  toils.     The  living 
growth  of  past  Christianity  is  our  encouragement  in 
.planting  the    Gospel.      Every   evangelical   mission 
reads  us  the  same  lesson.     Lament  as  we  may  over 
the  continuance  of  error  in  some  localities,  and  the 
seeming  decay  of  truth   in   others,  there  is  still  a 
meaning,  which  future   light  is  to  reveal,  m  such 
words  as  those  :    Every  plant  which  my  heavenly 
Father  hath  not  planted,  shall  be  rooted  up.     (Matt. 
xv.  13.)     Shiloh,  where  God  placed  his  tent  among 
men,  became  a  desolation ;  Jerusalem,  a  curse  to  all 
the  nations  of  the  earth.     (Ps.  lxxvm.  60.    Jer.  xxvi 
6.)    Wittenberg  is  a  nursery  of  Rationalism,  Geneva  is 
the  seat  of  baptized  infidelity  ;  and  Cambridge,  where 
the  Puritan  confessors  avowed  a  divine  Redeemer,  is 
a  high-place  of  Socinianism.     But  Shiloh  may  be  re 
visited  by  the  ark;   "they  shall  call  Jerusalem  the 
throne  of  the  Lord."    Wittenberg  still  conceals  truth, 
Which  the  God  of  Luther  can  revive  ;  Geneva  ahead) 


8  VITALITY    OF    THE    TRUTH. 

shows  some  who  "  spring  up  as  among  the  grass,  as 
willows  by  the  water-courses  ;"  and  the  prayers  of 
Oakes  and  Harvard  are  not  forgotten  before  God. 
Evil  dies,  in  many  places,  by  a  divine  law.  What 
missions  were  ever  more  flourishing  than  those  of  the 
Jesuits  of  Brazil  ?  Their  last  traces  are  now  disap- 
pearing in  the  beautiful  country  from  which  that 
mighty  Order  has  been  expelled.  On  the  other  hand, 
Elberfeld,  and  the  vale  of  the  Wupper,  retains  to  this 
day  the  goodly  fruit  of  the  Reformed  theology ;  and 
assemblies  of  four  thousand  sometimes  listen  to  the 
sound  of  a  free  gospel,  from  the  lips  of  Krummacher. 
The  voice  of  the  truth  is  faintly  heard  again  iji  the 
land  of  the  Huguenots  ;  converts  are  welcomed  from 
the  churches  of  Asia  ;  and  we  look  for  the  day  when 
the  candlestick  shall  be  restored  to  Antioch,  Alexan 
dria,  and  Jerusalem.  There  is  much  in  the  garden 
of  the  Lord  to  make  us  hope  that  the  imperishable 
vine  will  again  cover  the  spots  where  the  boar  out 
of  the  wood  has  wasted  it.  "  In  that  day,  sing  ye 
unto  her,  A  vineyard  of  red  wine  :  I,  die  Lord,  will 
keep  it ;  I  will  water  it  every  moment :  lest  any 
hurt  it,  I  will  keep  it  night  and  day."  (Isa.  xxvii. 
2,3.) 

While  we  aim  at  sowing  the  word,  wherever  man 
dwells,  it  is  good  to  consider  the  source  of  its  vege- 
tative energy.  Our  arithmetic  often  misleads  and  dis- 
heartens us.  We  spread  the  map  on  our  table,  and 
compute  so  many  millions  of  souls,  and,  over  against 


VITALITY  OF  THE  TRUTH.  9 

this,  so  many  feeble  preachers ;  and  then,  on  the 
scale  of  the  exchange  or  the  shop,  we  conclude  that 
such  instrumentality  in  regard  to  the  proposed  result, 
is  stark  naught.  But  this  reckoning  is  not  valid  in 
the  house  of  the  Lord.  The  Rule  of  Three,  blessed 
be  the  name  of  God,  is  not  the  rule  of  Grace.  In 
God's  account,  the  proportion  sometimes  runs  thus  : 
One  shall  chase  a  thousand,  and  two  put  ten  thousand 
to  flight.  In  this  problem,  we  have  no  authority  to 
omit  the  element  which  is  infinite — the  power  of  the 
Spirit  with  the  word.  God's  arm  can  turn  the  bal- 
ance against  all  weights.  I  am  reminded  of  the  fa- 
mous old  Roman  story.  During  a  Gallic  irruption, 
the  barbarians  raised  the  blockade  of  the  capital  for 
a  sum  of  money.  Quintus  Sulpicius  complained 
that  the  weights  were  false  ;  but  the  Gaul  threw  his 
heavy  broadsword  into  the  scale.  Gideon  was  ad- 
monished of  this  preponderating  power  of  divine  aid  : 
"  By  the  three  hundred  men  that  lapped  will  I  save 
you."  The  watchword  of  his  victory  should  be  ours 
''  The  sword  of  the  Lord,  and  of  Gideon."  The 
sword  of  the  Spirit,  which  is  the  word  of  God,  shall 
countervail  millions  in  the  scale.  In  God's  work,  one 
Augustint,  one  Luther,  or  one  Whitefleld,  counts 
more  than  a  vulgar  unit  of  enumeration ;  and  the 
quiver  of  the  Almighty  is  not  exhausted  of  such  ar 
rows.  We  do  a  grievous  wrong  to  our  p-ospects, 
when  we  measure  the  coming  day  by  the  morning 
twilight.     There  is  a  stage  in  evangelical   effort,  at 


10  VITALITY    OF   THE   TRUTH. 

which  the  light  of  the  moon  shall  be  as  the  light  of 
the  sun,  and  the  light  of  the  sun  shall  be  sevenfold 
as  the  light  of  seven  days,  in  the  day  that  the  Lore 
bindeth  up  the  breach  of  his  people,  and  healeth  the 
stroke  of  their  wound.  By  an  effusion  of  the  Spirit 
on  the  seed  sown,  Christ  can,  and  doubtless  will, 
make  the  labors  of  one  husbandman  equal  to  those 
of  thousands.  What  have  our  own  days  beheld,  in 
Burmah  and  the  Sandwich  Isles  ? 

Such  is  the  preciousness,  such  is  the  vitality  of  the 
missionary  seed,  that  we  should  be  hopeful  in  dis- 
seminating even  a  handful.     In  the  morning  sow  thy 
seed,  and  in  the  evening  withhold  not  thy  hand.    Our 
province  is  ministerial :  the  increase  is  of  sovereign 
grace.     Not  every  blade  of  wheat  comes  to  the  ear  ; 
not  every  tract  is  read  with  the  eye  of  faith ;  not 
every  preacher  turns  the  heathen  from  dumb  idols. 
Yet,  in  the  grand  reckoning,  the  truth  is  working,  and 
sometimes  mightily.     Who  questions  the  fact  that 
there  is  a  deadly  efficacy  in  firearms  on  fields  of 
battle?     Yet  military  calculators   tell  us,   that  not 
more  than  one  ball  in  twelve  thousand  proves  mortal, 
or  strikes  a  human  being.     If  the  church  were  only 
putting  forth  a  consentaneous  effort,  causing  the  good 
seed  to  fly  over  all  nations,  it  is  reasonable  to  believe 
uat  the  world  would  soon  behold  singular  and  unex- 
ampled increase,  from  direct  copious  visitations  of 
spiritual  energy.     "  Thy  people  shall  be  willing  in 
the  day  of  thy  power,  in  the  beauties  of  holiness 


VITALITY  OF  THE  TRUTH.  11 

from  the  womb  of  the  morning  :  thou  hast  the  dew 
of  thy  youth." 

If  then  it  is  truth,  on  which  the  Holy  Spirit  confers 
such  vital  and  prolific  virtue,  we  should  be  sure,  in 
laboring  for  foreign  lands,  that  what  we  sow  is  the  very 
Word  of  God.  In  the  missionary  message,  it  is 
Christ  which  gives  life  and  fructifies  the  toil.  The 
nominal  church  has  been  bringing  forth  tares  for  cen- 
turies. An  enemy  hath  done  this.  Amidst  them  all 
some  seed  has  sprung  up ;  first  the  blade,  then  the 
ear,  then  the  full  corn  in  the  ear.  This  end  is  ac- 
complished only  by  the  truth.  To  communicate 
this,  pure  and  entire,  is  nowhere  more  indispensable 
than  in  the  field  of  missions.  Among  the  multiform 
propositions  of  truth,  those  are  most  quick  and  pow- 
erful which  lie  nearest  the  heart  and  centre.  The 
doctrine  of  Christ,  and  him  crucified,  is  the  vivifying 
doctrine  ;  the  missionary  germ.  How  long  did  the 
Moravian  brethren  plough  and  sow  in  vain,  plying 
the  Greenlanders  with  the  ethics  of  Christianity  !  It 
was  a  lambent  flame  ;  true,  but  inefficacious  ;  it  kin- 
dled nothing.  But  when — as  if  by  chance — they 
spake  of  the  Cross,  the  frozen  savages  were  in  a 
glow — the  arctic  ice  began  to  melt !  It  is  the  grand 
secret  of  Gospel  labor,  at  home  and  abroad  :  but  it  is 
especially  pertinent  to  the  dissemination  of  truth  over 
new  ground.  The  question,  What  is  the  Gospel,  is 
one  of  awful  moment  in  this  vernal  period  of  the 
Church ;  and   the  Apostle   Peter,   addressing  early 


12  VITALITY    OF    THE    TRUTH. 

Christians,  ascribes  to  this  gospel  the  very  characters 
of  power  and  vitality,  which  have  been  asserted  of  it 
in  the  foregoing  desultory  remarks  :  "  Being  born 
again,  not  of  corruptible  seed,  but  of  incorruptible, 
by  the  Word  of  God,  which  liveth  and  abideth  for- 
ever. And  this  is  the  Word  which  by  the  Gospel  \* 
preached  unto  you." 


P     ft    A     Y     !?         m     n 


3I)£  Ixxst  Jittsaxonarg. 

BY  MRS.  LYDIA  H.   SIGOURNEY. 

Know'st  thou  the  Leader  of  that  train,  who  toil 
The  everlasting  Gospel's  light  to  shed 
On  earth's  benighted  climes  ? 

Canst  tell  the  name 
Of  the  first  Teacher,  in  whose  steps  went  forth 
'  O'er  sultry  India,  and  the  sea-green  isles, 
And  to  the  forest-children  of  the  West, 
A  self-denying  band, — who  counted  not 
Life  dear  unto  them,  so  they  might  fulfil 
Their  ministry,  and  save  the  heathen  soul  ? 

Judea's  mountains,  from  their  breezy  heights 
Reply, — "  We  heard  him,  when  he  lifted  up 
His  voice,  and  taught  the  people  patiently, 
Line  upon  line,  for  they  were  slow  of  heart." 
From  its  dark  depths,  the  Galilean  lake 
Told  hoarsely  to  the  storm-cloud,  how  he  dealt 
Bread  to  the  famish'd  throng,  with  tender  care, 
Forgetting  not  the  body,  while  he  fed 
The  immortal  spirit ; — how  he  stood  and  heal'd. 
Day  after  day,  till  evening  shadows  fell 


THE    FIRST    MISSIONARY. 


Around  the  pale  and  paralytic  train, 

Lame,  halt,  and  blind,  and  lunatic,  who  sought 

His  pitying  touch. 

Mount  Olivet,  in  sighs, 
Spake  mournfully — "  His  midnight  prayer  was  mine 
I  heard  it,  I  alone, — as  all  night  long 
Upward  it  rose,  with  tears,  for  those  who  paid 
His  love  with  hatred." 

Kedron's  slender  rill, 
That  bathed  his  feet,  as  to  his  lowly  work 
Of  mercy  he  went  forth,  still  kept  his  name 
Securely  hoarded  in  its  secret  fount, 
A  precious  pearl-drop  ! 

Sad  Gethsemane 
Had  memories  that  it  falter'd  to  repeat, 
Such  as  the  strengthening  angel  mark'd,  appall'd, 
Finding  no  dialect  in  which  to  bear 
Their  wo  to  Heaven. 

Even  Calvary,  who  best 
Might,  if  it  would,  our  earnest  question  solve, 
Press'd  close  its  flinty  lip,  and  shuddering  bow'd 
In  silent  dread,  remembering  how  the  sun 
Grew  dark  at  noon-day,  and  the  sheeted  dead 
Came  from  their  cleaving  sepulchres,  to  walk 
Among  the  living. 

But  the  bold,  bad  host, 
Spirits  of  evil,  from  the  lake  of  pain, 
Who  held  brief  triumph  round  the  mystic  Cross, 
Bare  truthful  witness,  as  they  shrieking  fled, — 


THE  FIRST  MISSIONARY.  15 

"  We  know  thee  who  thou  art,  the  Christ  of  God  :" 
While  Heaven,  uplifting  its  eternal  gates, 
With  chant  of  cherubim  and  seraphim. 
Welcomed  the  Lord  of  glory  entering  in, 
His  mission  donf^ 
2 


tooman,.t!)c  ©ospel  ffitzsm%tx* 

BY  MRS.   E.   R.   STEELE 
"Kings'  daughters  were  among  thy  honorable  women."— Psalm. 

Theophilus,  emperor  of  the  Romans,  wishing  to 
select  a  wife,  commanded  the  daughters  of  his  no- 
bles to  be  collected  in  the  imperial  palace  at  Con- 
stantinople, and,  with  a  golden  apple  in  his  hand, 
slowly  moved  around  the  blooming  circle.  Stepping 
before  the  brilliant  Icasia,  he  archly  observed, — 

"  Women  have  been  the  cause  of  much  evil  I  a  the 
world." 

"  And  surely,  sir,"  she  quickly  replied,  "they  have 
also  been  the  cause  of  much  good  !" 

This  assertion — which  cost  Icasia  a  throne,  us  the 
emperor  passed  on  and  presented  the  apple  to  the 
pretty  but  silent  Theodora — will  be  supported  in 
these  pages,  where  the  essential  service  which  wo- 
man has  rendered  towards  the  general  good,  will  be 
shown  to  be  spreading  the  gospel  truths  abroad. 

Since  the  days  when  Solomon  declared  he  vainly 
sought  one  virtuous  woman  in  a  thousand,  and  since 
he  son  of  Sirach  told  us,  "wickedness  comes  from 


WOMAN,  THE  GOSPEL  MEiSENGEIt.  17 

woman,"  a  great  change  has  taken  place  in  her  char- 
acter and  situation.  To  Christianity  is  woman  in- 
debted for  a  glorious  revolution  in  her  destiny  ;  and 
me  Christian  female,  no  longer  the  slave  and  play- 
thing of  olden  time,  has  been  exalted  by  man  to  the 
rank  of  his  friend  and  counsellor.  There  are  some 
who  would  place  her  higher,  and  give  her  a  share  in 
the  world's  sovereignty.  But  this  is  not  her  fitting 
station ;  let  man  be  lord  of  the  creation,  since  wo- 
man's God  hath  said,  "  he  shall  iule  over  thee." 

Woman  has  her  own  high  and  peculiar  duties,  and 
if  we  look  abroad  into  the  history  of  nations,  we 
shall  see  she  has  understood  and  performed  well  her 
role.  Christianity  having  elevated  her  position,  she 
employed  her  new-found  powers  and  energies  in 
spreading  its  blessed  doctrines  over  the  earth,  thus 
enabling  her  sisters  of  every  clime  to  partake  in  its 
inestimable  benefits.  Man  will  scarcely  credit  the 
amount  of  female  service  in  the  holy  cause  of  the 
gospel ;  he  will  be  surprised  when  informed  how 
much  of  the  world  is  indebted  to  her  agency,  as  in- 
strument of  the  Saviour  and  the  missionary's  friend, 
for  the  introduction  of  Christianity 

In  the  early  ages  of  our  faith,  woman  was  evei 
among  its  most  zealous  converts, — "first  at  the  cross, 
and  first  at  the  sepulchre," — and  when  persecution 
commenced,  her  faith  was  sealed  with  her  blood.  I 
could  speak  of  Prisca,  Valeria,  and  Paula,  with  many 
others,  but  my  subject  would  allude  only  to  those 


18 

who  disseminated  the  truths  of  the  Gospel  by  exam- 
ple and  exertion.  The  noble  mother  of  Alexander 
Severus,  Julia  Mammae,  gave  the  new  religion  most 
important  support.  She  educated  her  son  as  a 
Christian,  and  herself  zealously  espoused  its  cause 
During  her  reign  the  Christians  enjoyed  a  welcome 
repose.  They  for  the  first  time  appeared  at  court, 
and  then  churches  were  first  erected.  Julia  was  a 
woman  of  great  powers  of  mind.  During  Alexan- 
der's minority,  she  enacted  wise  laws,  surrounded 
him  with  excellent  counsellors,  and  used  him  to  sim- 
ple and  virtuous  habits.  Her  attention  was  directed 
to  the  improvement  of  female  manners,  and  she  abol- 
ished the  custom,  practised  by  former  empresses,  of 
appearing  in  the  councils  of  the  nation,  and  promul- 
gated a  law  by  which  woman  was  excluded  from  the 
senate.  Let  the  sins  of  Marcia  be  forgiven  when 
we  remember  her  efforts  in  this  holy  cause.  As  if 
hoping  to  atone  for  her  misdeeds,  she  declared  her- 
self patroness  of  the  Christians,  and  so  well  employ- 
ed ber  power  as  to  induce  Commodus,  the  emperor 
of  Rome,  to  show  them  mercy.  By  her  influence 
persecution  ceased,  and  after  having  suffered  thir- 
teen years  of  tyranny  the  Christians  lived  in  peace 
and  multiplied  greatly.  Like  Magdalene,  Marcia 
loved  her  Saviour  much,  although  a  sinner,  and  let 
us  hope  she  also  was  forgiven. 

B"t  these  lesser  lights  must  fade  before  the  ra 
iiance  which  surrounds  the  pious  Empress  Helena 


WOMAN,  THE  GOSPEL  MESSENGER.  19 

mother  of  the  great  Constantine.  She  was  a  zeal 
ous  Christian,  and  in  the  conversion  of  her  son  en 
sured  that  of  the  Roman  world.  When  Helena 
went  into  retirement,  Constantine  shared  with  his 
mother  her  sorrow  and  loneliness  ;  and  neither  those 
days  of  gloom,  nor  his  subsequent  exaltation  to  a 
throne,  could  shake  the  faith  instilled  by  Helena. 
Constantine  gloried  in  the  religion  of  Christ.  He 
publicly  proclaimed  it  in  the  senate,  bore  the  initials 
of  his  Saviour's  name  as  a  monogram  upon  his  ban- 
ner, as  the  sign  by  which  he  hoped  to  conquer ; 
placed  his  statue  in  Rome,  bearing  aloft  the  cross  ; 
and  by  his  decrees  secured  the  civil  and  religious 
rights  of  the  Christians.  During  the  reign  of  the 
son  of  Helena,  Christianity  became  so  firmly  rooted, 
that  not  all  the  efforts  of  the  apostate  Julian  could 
accomplish  its  overthrow.  The  pious  Helena,  in  the 
midst  of  all  the  splendor  with  which  her  son  could  sur- 
round her,  never  forgot  Him  who  was  her  friend  and 
supporter  in  adversity.  With  this  feeling  of  rever- 
ence strong  in  her  bosom,  she  undertook  a  weary 
pilgrimage,  to  look  upon  that  land  where  her  Savioui 
had  suffered  and  died  for  her.  In  Jerusalem,  upon 
Mount  Olivet,  on  Calvary,  and  Sinai,  and  other  con- 
secrated spots  in  the  Holy  Land,  she  erected  churches  - 
and  convents,  adorned  with  rare  marbles,  gold,  and 
mosaic,  as  monuments  to  direct  the  pious  traveller  to 
\he  spot  where  the  wondrous  events  recorded  in  Holy 
Writ  had  taken  place.     Some  have  thought  this  an 


20  WOMAN 

exampie  and  precedent  for  much  of  that  mummery 
and  trade  in  relics  which,  with  other  corruptions, 
have  since  darkened  the  Christian  religion ;  but  the 
advantages  of  having  these  interesting  places  thus 
early  marked  out  will  cancel  this,  and  thousands 
have  felt  their  faith  assured,  and  hopes  confirmed 
and  hearts  refreshed,  while  gazing  upon  these  sacred 
stations.  A  late  traveller,  in  gratitude  to  Helena, 
conferred  upon  her  the  glorious  title  of  "  Mother  of 
the  Holy  Land." 

Among  the  most  devoted  adherents  of  the  Cross, 
let  not  Pulcheria,  virgin  empress  of  Rome,  be  for- 
gotten. What  a  contrast  is  the  pure  and  useful  life 
of  this  first  reigning  Christian  empress,  to  that  of  the 
debased  pagan  princes  who  reigned  before  her  !  The 
court  of  her  father  Arcadius  was,  perhaps,  more  lux- 
urious and  more  magnificent  than  that  of  any  of  his 
Caesar  predecessors,  yet  this,  Pulcheria  renounced, 
and  turning  from  all  those  worldly  pleasures,  which 
her  youth,  her  beauty,  and  rank  might  have  com- 
manded, she  consecrated  herself  to  a  life  of  celibacy, 
devotion,  and  good  works.  At  the  age  of  sixteen 
she  received  the  title  of  Augusta,  which  she  valued 
only  as  placing  more  power  and  wealth  at  her  dis- 
oosal,  to  be  employed  in  furtherance  of  the  gospel. 
In  the  presence  of  the  assembled  people,  Pulcheria. 
with  her  sistera  Arcadia  and  Marino,  to  whom  she 
had  communicated  a  knowledge  of  a  S&v*  "ir,  pub- 
;cly  dedicated  themselves   to  the   sen'---      f  the.'i 


WOMAN,    THE  GOSPEL  MESSENGER  21 

Redeemer.  Their  solemn  vow  of  religion  and  ceii 
bacy  was  engraved  upon  a  tablet  of  gold  and  gems, 
and  placed  in  the  church  of  Saint  Sophia,  in  Con- 
stantinople. This  resolution  was  celebrated  through- 
out the  empire  as  a  "  sublime  effort  of  Christian 
piety."  These  vows  were  deemed  necessary,  in  that 
corrupt  age,  to  strike  the  attention  of  the  pagan  peo- 
ple, and  to  keep  the  new  convert  from  all  contact 
with  a  vicious  society.  Such  monastic  severity  and 
celibacy,  in  our  day  is  not  called  for.  Pulcheria,  in 
her  palace,  led  a  solitary,  but  not  a  useless  life.  She 
occupied  herself  with  many  Christian  works,  at  home 
and  abroad,  and  devoted  herself  particularly  to  the 
education  of  her  brother  Theodosius,  who,  under  her 
wise  tuition,  became  chaste,  temperate,  liberal,  and 
merciful.  The  flame  of  paganism  was  then  flicker- 
ing in  the  socket,  and  in  the  reign  of  Pulcheria  and 
Theodosius  it  expired.  The  imperial  treasures  were 
appropriated  to  religious  purposes  ;  while  institutions 
for  the  poor  and  the  stranger,  and  many  magnificent 
churches,  attest  the  ardent  faith  and  Christian  zeal 
of  Rome's  first  female  sovereign,  the  pious  Empress 
Pulcheria. 

The  Gospel  was  carried  to  benighted  Russia  by 
Olga,  queen  of  that  land.  Through  her  efforts  alone 
Christianity  was  introduced  into  that  vast  region 
which  was  then  devoted  to  a  debasing  superstition 
She  had  heard — perhaps  through  some  of  her  pirati 
cal  subjects  when  returned  from  a  predatory  excur- 


22  WOMAN,    THE    GOSPEL    MESSENGER. 

sion,  or  some  wandering  missionary — of  a  new  ami 
purer  religion  which  was  acknowledged  by  the  em- 
pire of  Rome,  and  as  Christianity  is  always  warmly 
we^omed  by  the  female  heart,  she  was  anxious  to 
behold  its  benign  influence  shed  upon  her  savage  peo- 
ple. For  that  object  the  princess  resolved  to  visit 
Constantinople.  The  Russians  had  made  them- 
selves feared  by  the  Greeks,  who  looked  with  super- 
stitious dread  upon  those  "  arctic  fleets,"  and  count 
less  savage  hordes  pouring  from  the  dark  and  un- 
known regions  of.  the  north  to  ravage  their  borders, 
and  they  were  well  pleased  with  the  prospect  of 
their  conversion.  The  Emperor  Porphyrogenitus 
resolved  tc  receive  the  Russian  queen  with  all  the 
honor  and  pomp  which  he  thought  would  best  im- 
press her  with  an  idea  of  his  power  and  magnifi- 
cence. Chariots  of  silver  and  gold,  surrounded  with 
purple  curtains,  drawn  by  oxen  covered  with  trap- 
pings of  scarkt  cloth  and  jewels,  awaited  to  conduct 
Queen  Olga  and  her  train  to  the  imperial  residence. 
The  rude  pagans  gazed  with  surprise  at  the  splendid 
marble  palaces  and  churches,  and  the  Hippodrome 
with  its  obelisk,  and  circle  of  bronze  chariots  each 
bearing  a  statue  of  some  famous  hero. 

Arrived  at  the  palace,  they  beheld,  through  a  long 
vista  of  gliUering  guards,  the  Emperor  Constantine 
surrounded  by  his  richly  apparelled  nobles,  seated 
upon  a  golden  throne,  arrayed  in  robes  of  scarlet, 
•mibroidered  with   golden    dragons      Two   lions  01 


WOMAN,  THE  GOSPEL  MESSENGER.  23 

gold  stood  one  upon  each  side  of  the  throne,  which, 
worked  by  unseen  machinery,  roared  aloud  at  the 
approach  of  the  strangers,  while  a  grove  of  trees 
behind  the  monarch,  formed  of  gold,  resounded  with 
the  melody  of  the  gemmed  birds  which  ornamented 
the  branches.  Carpets  of  glowing  dyes,  Tynan 
tapestry,  and  columns  of  marble,  supporting  a  ceil- 
ing studded  with  stars  and  moon  of  gold,  added  to 
the  magnificence  of  the  imperial  palace. 

Like  Queen  Sheba  of  old,  Olga  came  with  a  state 
ly  retinue  from  afar  to  visit  the  monarch ;  but  not, 
like  the  Arabian  queen,  to  mark  his  wisdom,  nor  look 
upon  his  glorious  array  ;  a  "  greater  than  Solomon' 
she  came  to  seek,  and  by  Him,  her  heavenly  Lord, 
was  she  graciously  received. 

Christianity,  at  first,  spread  slowly  in  Russia,  its 
progress  being  retarded  by  Olga's  grandson,  Prince 
Walodimir,  a  fanatic  follower  of  the  barbarous  wor- 
ship of  his  fathers.  Here  again  we  behold  woman 
by  her  gentle  influence  smoothing  the  path  for  the 
missionaries  of  the  cross.  Walodimir  loved  Aime, 
daughter  of  the  Emperor  Romanus,  and  threatened 
war  if  denied  the  princess,  but  promised  to  support 
Christianity  if  she  were  given  to  him.  The  gentle 
Anne  shuddered  at  the  idea  of  a  pagan  husband,  but 
she  was  a  zealous  Christian,  and  when  the  hope  of 
his  conversion  was  placed  before  her  she  dared  not 
hesitate.  Anne  left  her  home,  and  the  luxurious  pa- 
'ace  of  her  fathers  at  Constantinople,  for  a  sad  exile 


'<£4  WOMAN,    THE    GOSPEL,    MESSENGER, 

among  a  rude  people  in  a  savage  dime.  Hei  self- 
denial  was  rewarded.  God  touched  the  heart  of  her 
pagan  lord  while  he  listened  to  the  Gospel,  now  first 
heard  by  him,  and  he  became  a  sincere"  Christian. 
His  once  worshipped  god  of  Thunder,  Peroun,  was 
torn  from  his  throne,  dragged  with  ignominy  through 
the  streets,  and  then  cast  into  the  Borysthenes.  Wa- 
lodimir,  once  the  enemy  of  the  gospel,  so  exerted 
himself  in  its  cause,  that  he  has  gone  down  to  pos- 
terity with  the  glorious  title  of  "  Apostle  of  Russia." 

Who  has  not  heard  of  the  noble  Bertha,  through 
whose  means,  under  Providence,  Christianity  was 
introduced  into  England  ?  It  is  true  Claudia  was  the 
first  convert  to  the  new  religion  among  the  ancient 
Britons,  and  with  Eigen,  daughter  of  Caractacus, 
aided  in  its  dissemination  among  her  countrymen ; 
but  her  race  wTas  swept  away,  or  pent  up  in  the 
mountains  of  Wales,  by  the  Saxons,  whose  barba- 
rous worship  became  the  religion  of  England.  That 
fierce  idolatry,  dear  as  it  was  to  the  Saxons,  as  being 
the  faith  of  their  ancestors,  was  overthrown  by  the 
zealous  efforts  of  the  pious  Princess  Bertha. 

Bertha  was  a  descendant  of  Queen  Clotilda,  of 
Fiance.  Here  is  seen  how  far  the  circle  may  extend 
which  receives  its  impetus  from  a  single  individual 
Clotilda  was  wife  of  Clovis,  king  of  the  Franks 
daughter  of  the  dethroned  Chilperic,  and  niece  of 
Gondebald,  king  of  Burgundy.  She  was  a  devoted 
Christian,  and  labored  to  convert  her  husband  to  the 


WOMAN,   THE   GOSPEL  MESSENGER.  25 

same  faith.  In  her,  Clovis  beheld  such  "  beauty  of 
holiness,"  and  such  Christian  purity,  as  induced  him 
to  listen  to  her  persuasions  and  turn  his  attention  to 
that  new  religion  which  had  so  exalted  the  character 
of  his  wife.  Dreading  the  disapprobation  of  his 
idolatrous  subjects,  he  hesitated  to  declare  his  senti- 
ments. At  the  battle  of  Talbaic,  when  he  saw  his 
soldiers  flying  before  the  enemy,  and  found  he  had 
called  upon  his  pagan  gods  m  vain,  he  remembered 
the  Deity  to  whom  his  wife  had  so  often  directed  his 
thoughts  : 

"  O  God  of  Clotilda  !"  he  cried,  raising  his  eyes 
to  heaven,  "  give  me  the  victory,  and  I  will  believe, 
and  be  baptized  in  thy  name  !"  He  who  hears  our 
prayers,  imperfect  as  they  are,  listened  to  Clovis, 
rescued  him  from  his  danger,  and  enabled  him  to  re- 
turn victorious. 

Rheims  then  beheld  a  more  glorious  pageant  than 
any  that  in  later  years  has  graced  its  lofty  walls. 
King  Clovis,  his  sister  Albofleda,  wife  of  Theodoric, 
and  three  thousand  warriors  were  baptized.  How 
swelled  the  heart  of  Clotilda  then,  while  gazing  upon 
this  band  of  warlike  idolaters,  and  upon  her  beloved 
ones,  all  brought  to  the  foot  of  the  cross  by  her  hand  ! 
What  joy  and  gratitude  filled  her  bosom  at  being  thus 
the  chosen  instrument  of  her  Saviour  !  Their  man- 
lies  of  state  and  glittering  armor,  laid  aside  for  bap- 
tismal robes  of  purest  white,  the  new  converts  pledged 
themselves  soldiers  of  Chri«*      The  soul  of  Clotilda 


26  WOMAN,    THE    GOSPEL    MESSENGER. 

was  lifted  up  on  high  ;  in  heaven-sent  visions  she  be 
held  the  future,  when  she  and  all  that  multitude  should 
meet  again, — again  should  stand  before  their  Sover- 
eign's throne  arrayed  in  white  celestial  garments,  and 
see  Him,  not  with  the  eye  of  faith  alone,  but  "  see 
him  as  he  is."  The  conversion  of  Clovis  was  yet 
too  recent  to  smooth  away  all  the  asperities  of  a  pa- 
gan life.  Soon  after  his  baptism  a  sermon  was 
preached  at  Rheims,  by  Remigius,  in  which  was 
eloquently  described  the  sufferings  and  death  of 
Christ.  Clovis  suddenly  started  up,  and  seizing  his 
spear,  exclaimed  aloud :  "  0  that  I  and  my  valiant 
Franks  had  been  there,  and  I  would  have  rescued 
him  !" 

The  Christian  religion  thus  established  in  France, 
was  professed  by  King  Caribert,  father  of  Bertha. 
Ethelbert,  Saxon  king  of  Kent,  sought  the  princess 
in  marriage,  and  although  it  grieved  the  pious  Bertha 
to  become  the  wife  of  an  idolater,  she  duteously  sub- 
mitted to  her  father's  commands.  She  consented  to 
marry  Ethelbert,  upon  the  condition  that  she  should 
be  allowed  to  practise  her  own  religious  rites.  Re- 
ceiving this  permission,  she  espoused  Ethelbert.  The 
Saxon  king  respected  his  wife's  faith,  and  caused  ar. 
edifice  to  be  provided  in  which  she  might  worship 
after  her  own  fashion.  Here,  in  the  little  church  of 
St.  Martin,  the  pious  queen  "  sang  the  Lord's  song 
in  a  strange  land,"  surrounded  by  a  small  congrega- 
tion consisting  of  her  attendants  and  the  few  con 


WOMAN,  THE  GOSPEL  MESSENGER.  21 

revts  whom  her  zealous  efforts  had  assembled.  The 
Christianity  thus  established  was  certainly  corrupted 
from  the  purity  of  the  apostolic  ages ;  the  seed,  how- 
ever, thus  planted,  God  in  his  own  time  caused  to 
bring  forth  rich  fruit. 

Soon  after  these  events  Augustin  arrived  in  En«/ 
land  as  a  missionary  of  the  Gospel,  and  then  did  Bei 
tha  reap  a  high  reward  for  her  religious  constancy. 
She  had  "  kept  the  faith,"  notwithstanding  the  per- 
suasions of  love,  or  scorn  of  her  new  people,  and 
she  now  experienced  the  heartfelt  gratification  of  see- 
ing her  husband  kneel  with  her  at  her  own  shrine. 
The  religion  which  Augustin  came  to  teach,  having 
already  obtained  entrance  into  the  country  through 
the  queen,  and  warmly  recommended  by  the  king  of 
France,  ensured  him  a  favorable  reception.  Ethel- 
bert,  through  his  wife's  teaching,  was  an  almost 
Christian,  but,  like  Clovis,  dreaded  the  disturbance 
his  change  of  religion  would  create  among  his  sub- 
jects. As  it  turned  out,  this  "  lion  in  the  way,"  like 
many  people's  lions,  was  a  creature  of  imagination 
only. 

The  Saxons,  and  many  other  barbarous  nations, 
believed  the  rapid  spread  of  Christianity  was  in  con- 
sequence of  magic  exercised  by  its  ministers.  To 
avert  this,  it  was  resolved  to  receive  the  deputation 
in  the  open  air,  enchantments  being  thought  thus  less 
effective. 

Upon  a  shady  spot,  outside  the  city  of  Canter 


28  WOMAN,    THE    GOSPEL    MESSENGER. 

oury,  sat  Ethelbert  and  his  queen,  surrounded  by  al- 
ine nobles  of  his  court.  A  procession  approached 
chanting  a  solemn  anthem  ;  at  its  head  the  mission* 
ary  Augustin  advanced,  bearing  a  large  silver  cross, 
followed  by  a  train  carrying  banners,  upon  one  of 
which  was  a  picture  of  Christ.  This  show  was,  in 
barbarous  ages,  deemed  advisable  to  catch  the  eye 
of  these  rude  pagans,  whose  attention  once  gained, 
a  better  hearing  was  ensured.  Ethelbert  received 
the  missionary  of  his  wife's  religion  with  courtesy, 
listened  to  his  arguments,  could  not  deny  their  truth, 
and  Augustin  completed  what  Bertha  had  begun. 

Ethelburga,  daughter  of  Bertha,  married  Edwin, 
king  of  Northumbria,  and,  like  her  mother,  continued 
firm  in  her  faith.  She  also  converted  her  husband 
and  people.  Mercia  also  received  the  truth  through 
the  efforts  of  a  woman — great-granddaughter  of  Ber- 
tha. Peada,  king  of  that  country,  became  enamored 
of  Ahlfleda,  daughter  of  Edwin  and  Ethelburga,  but 
she  refused  to  marry  a  worshipper  of  Odin,  even  with 
the  permission  of  practising  her  own  religion.  Hei 
firmness  induced  Peada  to  inquire  into  that  new  re- 
ligion which  enabled  a  young  and  timid  girl  to  resist 
the  enchantments  of  a  throne,  and  of  love.  He  re- 
ceived the  reward  promised  to  those  who  seek,  and 
found  the  pearl  of  great  price.  Peada  became  a 
Christian,  married  the  princess,  and  through  their  in- 
fluence Sussex,  the  only  unconverted  kingdom  of  the 
Anglo-Saxons,  received  the  faith.     Thus  in  a  short 


WOMAN,  THE  GOSPEL  MESSENGER.  29 

time  afu  the  arrival  of  Bertha  in  England,  through 
her  effort  -  and  those  of  her  descendants,  as  humble 
instruments  of  a  higher  hand,  were  the  altars  of  the 
Scandinavian  gods  overthrown,  and  Christianity  es- 
tablished as  the  religion  of  the  Anglo-Saxons. 

History  tells  us  also  of  Poland,  Christianized  by 
a  daughter  of  the  king  of  Bohemia,  who  induced  hei 
husband,  a  Polish  king,  to  be  baptized  in  her  religion. 
His  people  followed  his  example  : 

Of  Bulgaria,  the  wild  fierceness  of  whose  people, 
the  terror  of  surrounding  nations,  was  subdued,  and 
Christianity  introduced,  by  Bogoris,  sister  of  the 
king,  who  received  the  faith  at  Constantinople,  and 
succeeded  in  converting  her  brother  and  his  people  : 

Of  Hungary,  whose  king,  Geysa,  married  Sarolta, 
a  Bavarian  princess,  and  was  induced  by  her  clear 
exhibitions  of  gospel  truths  to  become  a  Christian : 

Of  Lithuania,  the  sovereign  of  whose  country, 
Jagellon,  loved  the  beautiful  Hedwiga,  heiress  to  the 
throne  of  Poland,  who,  refusing  to  marry  him,  he 
abjured  his  pagan  gods,  and  joined  his  duchy  to  the 
kingdom  of  his  bride,  which  became  a  Christian 
nation  : 

Of  Denmark,  converted  to  Christianity  by  its 
quejn,  Thyra,  who  prevailed  upon  her  husband, 
Gorm,  to  permit  the  missionaries  of  Christ  to  enter 
the  kingdom,  and  thus  introduced  Christianity  into 
that  country  and  Jutland. 

The   Christian  religion  ^ad  been  introduced  into 


30  WOMAN,    THE    GOSPEL    MESSENGER. 

Norway,  but  without  success,  until  the  celebrated 
Olaf  Triggvason  married  the  pious  Princess  Gyda, 
when  he  became  a  convert  and  overthrew  the  altars 
of  Odin. 

I  could  speak  of  many  more  exalted  and  pious 
women,  and  martyrs,  but  enough  has  been  said  to 
prove  the  truth  of  my  previous  assertion,  and  to  ex- 
emplify the  words  of  a  celebrated  historian,  who  tells 
us  :  "  Christianity  has,  in  every  age,  acknowledged 
ts  important  obligations  to  woman." 

0  ye  my  sisters  of  every  clime  !  may  ye  know  the 
power  and  influence  which  are  yours,  and  may  ye 
exert  it  as  these  exalted  females  have  done  before 
you ! 

Not  alone  on  pagan  shores,  but  around  you,  in 
your  dearest  circle,  you  will  find  a  field  ripe  for  the 
harvest. 

All  those  "  honorable  women"  whose  deeds  I  have 
narrated — Bertha,  Helena,  Pulcheria — are  shining  a 
brilliant  galaxy  on  high,  with  a  countless  starry  host 
of  witnesses  besides.  See  !  from  the  celestial  city 
they  are  gazing  down  upon  you  !  While,  pointing 
to  a  glorious  cross  on  high,  they  seem  to  say,  in  the 
words  of  Constantine — "  In  this  sign  you  shall 
conquer." 


%  Jflatwrial. 


BY  JOHN  G.  WHITTIER. 


Dakiel  Wheeler,  a  minister  of  the  Society  of  Friends,  and  who  had  la 
lored  in  the  cause  of  his  Divine  Master  in  Great  Britain,  Russia,  and  the  ial 
»nds  of  the  Pacific,  died  in  New  York,  in  the  spring  of  1840,  while  on  a  re 
ligious  visit  to  this  country. 


Oh,  dearly  loved ! 
And  worthy  of  our  love  ! — No  more 
Thy  aged  form  shall  rise  before 
The  hush'd  and  waiting  worshipper, 
In  meek  obedience  utterance  giving 
To  words  of  truth,  so  fresh  and  living, 
That,  even  to  the  inward  sense, 
They  bore  unquestion'd  evidence 
Of  an  anointed  Messenger  ! 
Or,  bowing  down  thy  silver  hair 
In  reverent  awfulness  of  prayer — 

The  world,  its  time  and  sense,  shut  out — 
The  brightness  of  Faith's  holy  trance 
Gather'd  upon  thy  countenance, 

As.if  each  lingering  cloud  of  doubt — 
The  cold,  dark  shadows  zesting  here 
In  Time's  unluminous  atmosphere — 


32  A    MEMORIAL. 

Were  lifted  by  an  angel's  hand, 
And  through  them  on  thy  spiritual  eye 
Shone  down  the  blessedness  on  high, 

The  glory  of  the  Better  Land  ! 

The  oak  has  fallen  ! 
While,  meet  for  no  good  work,  the  vine 
May  yet  its  worthless  branches  twine. 
Who  knoweth  not  that  with  thee  fell 
A  great  man  in  our  Israel  ? 
Fallen,  while  thy  loins  were  girded  still, 

Thy  feet  with  Zion's  dews  still  wet, 

And  in  thy  hand  retaining  yet 
The  Pilgrim's  staff  and  scallop-shell ! 
Unharm'd  and  safe,  where,  wild  and  fre.e, 

Across  the  Neva's  cold  morass 
The  breezes  from  the  Frozen  Sea 

With  winter's  arrowy  keenness  pass  ; 
Or,  where  the  unwarning  tropic  gale 
Smote  to  the  waves  thy  tatter'd  sail, 
Or,  where  the  noon-hour's  fervid  heat 
Against  Tahiti's  mountains  beat ; 

The  same  mysterious  hand  which  gave 

Deliverance  upon  land  and  wave, 
Temper'd  for  thee  the  blasts  which  blew 

Ladoga's  frozen  surface  o'er, 
And  bless'd  for  thee  the  baleful  dew 

Of  evening  upon  Eimeo's  shore, 
Beneath  this  sunny  heaven  of  ours, 


a   MEMORIAL.  38 

Midst  our  soft  an  s  and  opening  flowers 
Hath  given  thee  a  grave  ! 

His  will  be  done, 
Who  seeth  not  as  man,  whose  way- 
Is  not  as  ours  ! — 'Tis  well  with  thee  ! 
Nor  anxious  doubt  nor  dark  dismay- 
Disquieted  thy  closing  day, 
But,  evermore,  thy  soul  could  say, 

"  My  Father  careth  still  for  me  !" 
CalPd  from  thy  hearth  and  home — from  her, 

The  last  bud  on  thy  household  tree, 
The  last  dear  one  to  minister 

In  duty  and  in  love  to  thee, 
From  all  which  nature  holdeth  dear, 

Feeble  with  years  and  worn  with  pain 

To  seek  our  distant  land  again, 
Bound  in  the  spirit,  yet  unknowing 

The  things  which  should  befall  thee  here, 

Whether  for  labor  or  for  death. 
In  child-like  trust  serenely  going 

To  that  last  trial  of  thy  faith  ! 

Oh,  far  away. 
Where  never  shines  our  Northern  star 

On  that  dark  waste  which  Balboa  saw 
From  Darien's  mountains  stretching  far, 
So  strange,  heaven-broad,  and  lone,  that  there 
With  forehead  to  its  damp  wind  bare 


B4  A    MEMORIAL. 

He  bent  his  mailed  knee  in  awe ; 
In  many  an  isle  whose  coral  feet 
The  surges  of  that  ocean  beat, 
In  thy  palm-shadows,  Oahu, 

And  Honolulu's  silver  bay, 
Amidst  Owhyhee's  hills  of  blue, 

And  taro-plains  of  Tooboonai, 
Are  gentle  hearts,  which  long  shall  be 
Sad  as  our  own  at  thought  of  thee, — 
Worn  sowers  of  Truth's  holy  seed. 
Whose  souls  in  weariness  and  need 

Were  strengthen'd  and  refresh'd  by  thine 
For,  blessed  by  our  Father's  hand, 

Was  thy  deep  love  and  tender  care, 

Thy  ministry  and  fervent  prayer — 

Grateful  as  Eshcol's  cluster'd  vine 
To  Israel  in  a  weary  land  ! 

And  they  who  drew 
By  thousands  round  thee,  in  the  hour 

Of  prayerful  waiting,  hush'd  and  deep, 

That  He  who  bade  the  islands  keep 
Silence  before  Him,  might  renew 

Their  strength  with  His  unslumbering  power, 
They  too  shall  mourn  that  thou  art  gone, 

That  never  more  thy  aged  lip 
Shall  soothe  the  weak,  the  erring  warn, 
Of  those  who  first,  rejoicing,  heard 
Through  thee  the  Gospel's  glorious  word — 


A  MEMORIAL.  35 

Seals  of  thy  true  apostleship. 
And,  if  the  brightest  diadem 

Whose  gems  of  glory  purely  burn 

Around  the  ransom'd  ones  in  bliss 
Be  evermore  reserved  for  them 

Who  here,  through  toil  and  sorrow,  turn 

Many  to  righteousness, — 
May  we  not  think  of  thee,  as  wearing 
That  star-like  crown  of  light,  and  bearing, 
Amidst  Heaven's  white  and  blissful  band, 
The  fadeless  palm-branch  in  thy  hand ; 
And  joining  with  a  seraph's  tongue 
In  that  new  song  the  elders  sung, 
Ascribing  to  its  blessed  Giver 
Thanksgiving,  love,  and  praise  forever ! 

Farewell ! — 
Ana  though  the  ways  of  Zion  mourn 
When  her  strong  ones  are  call'd  away, 
Who  like  thyself  have  calmly  borne 
The  heat  and  burden  of  the  day, 
Yet  He  who  slumbereth  not  nor  sleepeth 
His  ancient  watch  around  us  keepeth ; 
Still  sent  from  His  creating  hand, 
New  witnesses  for  Truth  shall  stand — 
New  instruments  to  sound  abroad 
The  Gospel  of  a  risen  Lord ; 

To  gather  to  the  fold  once  more, 
The  desolate  and  gone  astray, 


A    MEMORIAL. 


The  scatter'd  of  a  cloudy  day. 

And  Zion's  broken  walls  restore  ! 
And,  through  the  travail  and  the  toil 

Of  true  obedience,  minister 
Beauty  for  ashes,  and  the  oil 

Of  joy  for  mourning,  unto  her  ! 
So  shall  her  holy  bounds  increase 
With  walls  of  praise  and  gates  of  peace 
So  shall  the  Vine,  which  martyr  tears 
And  blood  sustain'd  in  other  years, 

With  fresher  life  be  clothed  upon ; 
And  to  the  world  in  beauty  show 
Like  the  rose-plant  of  Jericho, 

And  glorious  as  Lebanon  ! 


Stye  Reciprocal  Inflnmcc  of  fWi00ton0. 

BY  THE  REV.  ERSKINE  MASON,  D.  D. 

We  live  in  an  interesting,  because  eventful  age. 
Occurrences  are  continually  taking  place  which  ar- 
rest attention,  as  well  on  account  of  their  suddenness 
as  their  importance,  seeming  to  indicate  the  approach 
of  the  world  to  some  great  crisis  in  its  history.  In 
this  respect,  the  present  is  more  distinctly  marked 
than  the  past,  and  the  future  will  be  more  marked 
than  the  present,  as  the  lines  of  God's  providence 
converge  more  rapidly  to  the  point  in  which  they  are 
all  ultimately  to  terminate.  Every  new  phase  in  the 
aspect  of  human  things,  imposes  some  new  obliga- 
tion, and  wisdom  is  deriving  instruction  continually 
from  the  signs  of  the  times.  We  learn  generally 
what  duty  is,  from  the  oracles  of  God  ;  we  must  learn 
what  are  appropriate  duties,  at  any  given  time,  from 
tbe  particular  developments  of  Providence  by  which 
that  time  is  marked. 

In  view  of  the  characteristics  of  the  present  event- 
ful age,  the  Christian  world  has  been  awakened  to  a 
sense,  of  the  obligation  which  these   characteristics 


38 


INFLUENCE    OF    MISSIONS. 


impose  ;  and  believing  that  the  great  point  in  wind 
all  the  lines  of  divine  Providence  are  to  terminate — ■ 
the  issue  upon  which  all  events  are  directly  or  indi- 
rectly bearing,  is  the  final  triumph  of  the  Gospel,  the 
perfect  establishment  of  the  Redeemer's  kingdom 
in  the  world,  the  claims  of  benevolent  effort  assume 
a  peculiar  importance,  and  plans  of  usefulness  are 
projected  and  prosecuted  with  zeal,  taking  advantage 
of  events,  and  having  direct  reference  to  the  spread 
of  the  Gospel. 

It  can  hardly  be  supposed  of  a  Christian  observer 
of  the  signs  of  the  times,  that  he  should  be  indiffer- 
ent to  any  right  form  of  Christian  effort ;  and  yet  it 
may  be  possible  that,  in  some  instances,  there  may 
be  hesitation  as  to  the  most  effective  methods  of  use- 
fulness, and  even  a  paramount  importance  may  be 
given  to  agencies  which  are  but  secondary  in  their 
nature.  It  is  not  believed  that  any  one  of  the  sepa- 
rate parts  in  the  great  enterprise  of  the  church  of 
God,  which  are  urging  their  claims  upon  the  Chris- 
tian world,  can  be  dispensed  with.  They  combine 
to  form  a  consistent  whole,  and  a  relaxation  of  effort 
in  any  one  department  tends  to  destroy  the  symme- 
try of  the  general  arrangement,  and  diminish  its  ef- 
fectiveness ;  and  yet  there  may  be  one  form  of  Chris- 
tian enterprise  which,  if  not  intrinsically  more  im- 
portant than  the  others,  is  so,  because  of  its  relations 
to  all  the  rest — it  may  constitute  the  spring  of  the 
whole  machinery,  without  which  it  could  never  move. 


INFLUENCE  OF  MISSIONS.  39 

[f  there  is  one  point  upon  which  the  Christian  eye 
should  be  intently  fixed,  it  is  undoubtedly  the  fiek* 
of  foreign  effort.  The  bearings  and  relations  of  the 
foreign  missionary  work  are  such  as  to  give  it  a  com- 
manding position,  and  to  claim  for  it  our  highest  in- 
terest. It  is  a  very  superficial  view  of  the  whole 
subject  of  Christian  effort,  which  gives  to  the  home 
field  a  paramount  importance.  Plausible,  indeed,  is 
it  to  say  that  we  have  all  around  us,  in  our  own  land, 
a  large  unevangelized  population,  which  claims,  as 
part  and  parcel  of  ourselves — as  linked  to  us  by 
strong  social  sympathies,  and  being  immediately  un 
der  our  eye  and  within  our  reach — our  first  regards 
The  importance,  nay,  indispensable  necessity  on 
every  account,  of  the  firm  establishment  of  the  king- 
dom of  God  among  ourselves  is  not  called  in  ques- 
tion ;  but  then  it  may  be  asked,  if  an  exclusive  atten- 
tion to  this. one  end  alone  is  not  calculated  to  prevent 
rather  than  to  secure  its  attainment  ? 

There  is,  I  imagine,  a  very  mistaken  notion  preva- 
lent, and  a  very  mistaken  policy  growing  out  of  it,  as 
though  there  was  an  undue  attention  given  to  the  for 
eign  work,  leading  to  a  neglect  of  that  which  espe- 
cially belongs  to  us,  and  which  they  who  are  at  home 
imperatively  demand  ;  and  efforts  to  carry  the  Gospel 
to  the  heathen  are  prejudiced  in  view  of  the  numer- 
ous and  pressing  claims  of  home. 

In  such  reasoning,  however,  and  the  position  which 

t  goes  to  establish,  there  seems  to  be  an  entire  over 
3 


40  INFLUENCE    OF    MISSIONS. 

sight  of  this  one  thought.  The  peculiar  character 
istic  of  the  church  of  God,  the  secret  of  its  efficiency, 
and  the  element  of  its  success  in  any  department 
whatever,  is  found  in  its  aggressiveness.  Progress, 
advancement  to  a  given  point,  is  the  great  law  of 
every  thing.  Generally  speaking,  that  which  is  al- 
ready attained  is  rendered  secure  in  possession  only 
by  renewed  attainments  of  the  same  kind.  The  hu- 
man frame,  until  it  has  reached  its  maturity,  must 
grow,  in  order  to  secure  a  healthy  action  of  its  pow- 
ers ;  if  its  general  progress  is  arrested,  there  is  no 
full  development  of  any  of  its  parts,  but  a  stinted  ac- 
tion which  results  in  dwarfishness.  The  mind  re- 
tains its  already  acquired  stores  of  information,  only 
by  means  of  constant  accessions  to  its  fund  of  know- 
ledge, and  by  regular  and  unwearied  application, 
preserves  the  strength  and  vigor  of  its  powers.  He 
who  ceases  to  learn,  ceases  to  remember ;  and  he 
who  ceases  to  act,  soon  is  reduced  to  mental  im- 
becility. 

So  in  human  enterprises,  whether  of  a  private  01 
national  character,  the  means  of  strength  and  per- 
petuity are  means  of  progress  likewise.  The  man 
who  at  any  point  in  his  history  gives  himself 
up  to  indolence,  generally  loses  what  by  former  en- 
ergy he  had  acquired ;  and  a  people,  marked  by  in- 
activity and  supineness,  very  rapidly  sinks  upon  the 
scale  of  nations. 

Analogy,  then,  may  throw  some   light   upon  the 


INFLUENCE  OF  MISSIONS.  41 

spiritual  and  religious  world  ;  growth  in  grace  is  ne- 
cessary to  the  maintenance  of  a  consistent  Christian 
character,  and  the  church  of  God  can  hold  her  own 
in  the  world  only  by  constant  accessions  to  her  num- 
bers, and  constant  additions  to  the  territory  over  which 
she  exercises  her  influence  :  and  it  is  not  to  be  doubt- 
ed, that  if,  in  order  to  secure  what  has  already  been 
attained,  she  should  cease  to  make  new  acquisitions, 
she  would  soon  be  crippled  in  her  influence  at  home, 
and  as  she  should  not  make  inroads  upon  the  terri- 
tory of  heathenism,  heathenism  would  make  inroads 
upon  the  territory  which  she  now  claims  as  her 
own. 

There  is  something  in  a  magnificent  enterprise 
which  tends  to  enlarge  the  heart.  He  only  does 
great  things  who  aims  high  ;  he  only  acts  worthy  of 
himself,  and  of  his  different  relations,  who  takes  large 
and  commanding  views  of  things.  The  man  who 
never  looks  farther  than  himself,  or  the  immediate 
circle  in  which  he  moves,  whose  thoughts  never  go 
beyond  the  boundaries  which  private  interest  has 
drawn  around  him,  and  whose  plans  never  contem- 
plate as  their  result  any  thing  but  »eif-aggrandize- 
ment,  never  illustrates  the  dignity  of  his  nature,  or 
puts  forth  any  high  and  honorable  efforts  :  the  heart 
13  a  very  small  one  which  a  unit  fills,  and  the  ener- 
gies which  it  controls  are  very  feeble,  and  its  achieve- 
ments are  very  insignificant.  He  must  be  a  degraded 
being,  failing  to  illustrate  the  very  characteristics  of 


42  INFLUENCE    OF    MISSIONS. 

uis  nature  upon  which  he  prides  himself,  or  accom 
plish  the  results  which  he  proposes  as  the  main  ends 
of  his  existence.  So  true  is  it,  that  a  worthy  char- 
acter requires  a  noble  aim,  and  nothing  but  a  grand 
enterprise  can  call  out  efforts  which  honor  their  au- 
thor. 

The  philosophy  of  our  Saviour's  arrangement,  when 
he  said  to  his  disciples  "  the  field  is  the  world,"  and 
set  before  them  its  salvation  as  the  prize  for  which 
they  were  to  run,  is  perfectly  apparent.  It  was  to 
give  them  an  element  of  action  and  a  motive  to  ef 
fort,  which  nothing  but  an  elevated  aim  could  fur 
nish ;  and  it  is  the  desire  and  hope  of  accomplishing 
the  whole  which  explains  the  busy  activity  which  at 
this  moment  pervades  the  ranks  of  the  church,  and 
secures  all  the  good  which  is  attained  through  her 
instrumentality.  Let  her  lose  sight  of  the  salvation  of 
the  whole  world,  as  her  object,  and  her  energies  are 
relaxed,  and  her  steps  falter,  and  she  comes  down 
from  the  lofty  sphere  in  which  her  Master  has  placed 
her,  and  exhibits  scarce  one  of  the  characteristics  by 
which,  in  the  word  of  God;  she  is  distinguished.  It 
is  with  the  church,  as  with  individuals  ;  she  must 
look  out  of,  and  beyond  herself  for  an  aim,  in  ordei 
to  act  worthy  of  herself  and  fulfil  her  destiny. 

The  philosophy  of  this  thought  is  fully  illustrated 
by  history,  which,  in  the  facts  it  records,  presents  a 
striking  commentary  upon  our  principle.  The  man 
of  large  and  liberal  views,  whose  plans  of  benevo 


INFLUENCE  OF  MISSIONS.  43 

.ence  are  graduated  upon  a  scale  of  vast  dimensions, 
and  who  contemplates  a  great  amount  of  good  to 
mankind  generally,  is  not  the  one  to  overlook  the 
claims  of  individual  suffering,  however  obscure  its 
subject,  which  are  brought  beneath  his  notice  and 
urged  upon  his  attention.  He  who  looks  abroad 
upon  the  wide  field  of  humanity,  and  throws  the  in 
fluence  of  his  kindness  over  the  whole  scene,  is  not 
the  man  whose  eye  is  closed,  and  whose  heart  is 
sealed  to  the  distresses  of  those  who  are  immediate- 
ly about  his  person,  or  who  deals  out  in  a  stinted 
measure  his  liberality  to  meet  their  wants. 

So  with  the  church  of  God.  Her  enlarged  spirit 
of  foreign  missions  has  ever  been  her  true  glory,  the 
element  of  her  efficiency,  the  secret  of  her  success. 
Wherever  it  has  prevailed,  Zion  has  "  put  on  hei 
beautiful  garments  ;"  wherever  it  has  declined  she 
has  lost  her  energy,  and  seemed  as  though  smitten 
Dy  a  paralysis  which  has  made  her  well-nigh  a  use 
less  thing.  Every  man  who  regards  the  history  of 
the  present  times  with  a  philosophic  eye,  knows  that, 
for  all  the  plans  of  benevolent  effort  to  do  good  at 
home  for  which  these  latter  days  are  so  justly  cele- 
brated, we  are  indebted  to  the  revival  of  a  mission- 
<ry  spirit  in  the  church  of  God.  It  was  when  she 
began  to  look  at  the  wants  of -the  world,  that  the 
wants  of  those  around  her  rose  up  distinctly  to  her 
view,  and  every  new  plan  of  foreign  effort  has  given 
a  new  impulse  to  domestic  enterprise,  and  :he  more 


44  INFLUENCE    OF    MISSIONS. 

she  has  done  for  those  at  a  distance,  the  more  ha& 
she  done  for  those  at  hand. 

No  observant  man  can  have  overlooked  the  fact, 
that,  for  the  plans  of  benevolence  which  respect  the 
wants  of  home,  as  well  as  for  the  means  of  their 
execution,  we  are  mainly  dependent  upon  those  who 
are  planning  and  acting  for  the  world  at  large.  In 
need  of  assistance  to  carry  out  any  designs  of  good, 
we  apply  always  with  greatest  confidence  to  men  of 
enlarged  and  liberal  views,  and  feel  that  we  can 
scarcely  calculate  upon  such  as  are  fearful  of  doing 
too  much.  The  men  who  think  most  and  feel  most 
in  reference  to  the  world,  think  most  and  feel  most 
in  reference  to  all  plans  of  good,  whatever  may  be 
their  immediate  objects  ;  and  he  who  gives  largely 
to  carry  the  Gospel  abroad,  gives  in  proportion  to  his 
ability  far  more  to  secure  the  influence  of  the  Gos- 
pel at  home,  than  he  who  withholds  his  means  from 
foreign  missions,  upon  the  plea  that  the  wants  of 
those  around  him  claim  all  his  benefactions.  In 
short,  all  the  enterprises  for  social  good,  all  the  insti- 
tutions which  have  for  their  object  the  temporal, 
moral,  and  spiritual  elevation  of  the  race,  find  their 
strongest  advocates  and  most  faithful  supporters 
among  the  enlightened  and  efficient  friends  of  the 
foreign  missionary  work. 

It  is  a  doctrine  insisted  upon  by  some,  that  all 
which  is  given  to  cultivate  the  foreign  field,  must  ne- 
cessarily be  subtracted  from  the  means  which  mighl 


INFLUENCE   OF  MISSIONS.  45 

oe  used  to  build  upon  the  cause  of  truth  among  those 
around  us  :  hence  the  maxim,  that  "  charity  begins 
at  home"  is  urged  too  often  against  the  demands  foi 
the  good  of  heathen  lands.  The  plea,  howevei,  pro- 
ceeds upon  the  false  assumption  that  we  have  reach- 
ed the  maximum  of  benevolent  effort — that  the  source 
whence  we  are  to  draw  our  means  of  usefulness,  is 
like  a  reservoir  of  limited  and  ascertained  capacity, 
whose  streams  must  diminish  in  volume  as  they  in- 
crease in  number. 

But  what  rational  man  can  suppose  that  the  means 
of  the  church  of  God  are  so  stinted,  or  that  she  is 
doing  now  a  tithe  of  what  she  can  do,  and  of  what 
she  will  shortly  do,  in  fulfilling  the  commands  and 
carrying  on  the  enterprises  of  her  Master  ?  On  the 
other  hand,  we  have  not  as  yet  at  all  developed  her 
resources.  Our  experience  thus  far  has  proved,  that 
the  source  of  our  means,  instead  of  being  of  limited 
and  ascertained  capacity,  is  rather  like  a  living  spring 
which  yields  more  and  more  as  supplies  are  drawn 
from  it.  We  need  no  more  than  the  church  of  God 
already  has,  to  accomplish  all  her  high  purposes  ;  but 
we  do  need  something  to  enlarge  her  heart,  and  draw 
out  her  resources,  and  direct  the  streams  of  her  bene- 
volence into  right  channels,  and  nothing  will  answer 
this  end  but  the  spirit  of  foreign  missions  ;  and  as 
that  spirit  rises  higher  and  higher  in  the  bosoms  of 
her  members,  means  will  not  be  wanting  for  hex 
work      When  they  generally  apprehend  that  "  the 


46  INFLUENCE    OF    MISSIONS* 

field  is  the  world,"  then  even  self-denial  and  sacrifice 
will  be  far  more  easy  than  the  bestowment  of  the 
scanty  pittance  which  is  now  consecrated  to  Christ ; 
and  "  Holiness  unto  the  Lord"  written  upon  every 
thing,  will  show  upon  what  principle  we  gather  out 
means,  and  to  what  end  we  consecrate  them. 

If  Zion,  then,  is  to  arise  and  shine — if  the  influ- 
ence of  the  gospel  is  to  spread  throughout  our  own 
land — if  the  church  of  God  is  to  strengthen  her 
stakes,  and  righteousness  is  to  run  down  our  streets 
like  a  mighty  river,  it  will  be  through  the  blessing  of 
God  upon  the  spirit  which  looks  over  the  world,  and 
seeks  to  bring  its  countless  thousands  io  the  obe- 
dience of  the  truth 


BY  JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 

It  was  past  the  hour  of  trysting, 
But  she  lingered  for  him  still ; 

Like  a  child,  the  eager  streamlet 
Leaped  and  laughed  adown  the  hill, 

Happy  to  be  free  at  twilight, 
From  its  toiling  at  the  mill. 

Then  the  great  moon,  on  a  sudden, 
Ominous,  and  red  as  blood, 

Startling  as  a  new  creation, 
O'er  the  eastern  hill-top  stood, 

Casting  deep  and  deeper  shadows 
Through  the  mystery  of  the  wood. 

Dread  closed  huge  and  vague  about  her, 
And  her  thoughts  turned  fearfully 

To  her  heart,  if  there  some  shelter 
From  the  silence  there  might  be, 

Like  dead  cedars  leaning  inland 
From  the  blighting  of  the  sea. 


IB  THE    CAPTIVE. 

Yet  he  came  not,  and  the  stillness 
Dampened  round  her  like  a  tomb  * 

She  could  feel  cold  eyes  of  spirits 
Looking  on  her  through  the  gloom 

She  could  hear  the  groping  footsteps 
Of  some  blind,  gigantic  Doom. 


Suddenly  the  silence  wavered 
Like  a  light  mist  in  the  wind, 

For  a  voice  broke  gently  through  ', 
Felt  like  sunshine  by  the  blind. 

And  the  dread,  like  mist  in  sunlight 
Furled  serenely  from  her  mind. 

"  Once,  my  love,  my  love  forever, 
Flesh  or  spirit,  still  the  same, 

If  I  missed  the  hour  of  trysting, 
Do  not  think  my  faith  to  blame,— 

I,  alas,  was  made  a  captive, 
As  from  Holy  Land  I  came. 

"  On  a  green  spot  in  the  desert, 
Gleaming  like  an  emerald  star, 

Where  a  palm-tree,  in  lone  silence 
Yearning  for  its  mate  afar, 

Droops  above  a  silver  runnel, 
Slender  as  a  scimetar, 


THE    CAPTIVE.  49 

"  There  thou'lt  find  the  humble  postern 

To  the  castle  of  my  foe  ; 
If  thy  love  burn  clear  and  faithful, 

Strike  the  gateway  green  and  low, 
Ask  to  enter,  and  the  warder 

Surely  will  not  say  thee  no. 


"  Wrap  around  me,  for  an  instant, 
The  warm  lustre  of  thine  eyes, 

Coldly  gleams  this  northern  moonlight, 
Coldly  bend  these  northern  skies, — 

Ah,  farewell  !  I  hear  the  matins 
Sung  e'en  now  in  Paradise." 

Slept  again  the  aspen  silence, 
But  her  loneliness  was  o'er ; 

Round  her  heart  a  motherly  patience 
Wrapt  its  arms  for  evermore ; 

From  her  soul  ebb'd  back  the  sorrow, 
Leaving  smooth  the  golden  shore. 

Donned  she  now  the  pilgrim  scallop, 
Took  the  pilgrim  staff  in  hand ; 

Like  a  cloud-shade,  flitting  eastward, 
Wandered  she  o'er  sea  and  land; 

Her  soft  footsteps  in  the  desert 
Fell  like  cool  rain  on  the  sand. 


50  THE    CAPTIVE. 

Air-iung  bells  of  convents  faintly 
Chimed  sometimes  from  out  the  sky 

Haply  from  those  ghostly  cities 
Which  she  saw  before  her  fly, 

Frail  as  are  the  tall  sand-pillars 
Of  the  mad  wind's  masonry. 

Soon  beneath  the  palm-tree's  shadow, 
Knelt  she  at  the  postern  low ; 

And  thereat  she  knocketh  gently, 
Fearing  much  the  warder's  no  ; 

All  her  heart  stood  still  and  listen'd, 
As  the  door  swung  backward  slow. 

Saw  she  there  no  surly  warder, 
With  an  eye  like  bolt  and  bar ; 

Through  her  soul  a  sense  of  music 
Throbbed, — and,  like  a  guardian  Lar 

On  the  threshold  stood  an  angel, 
Bright  and  silent  as  a  star. 

Fairest  seemed  he  of  God's  seraphs, 

And  her  spirit,  lily-wise, 
Blossomed  when  he  turned  upon  her 

The  deep  welcome  of  his  eyes, 
Sending  upward  to  that  sunlight 

All  its  dew  for  sacrifice, 


THE    CAPTIVE.  51 

Then  she  heard  a  voice  come  onward, 

Singing  with  a  rapture  new, 
As  Eve  heard  the  songs  in  Eden, 

Dropping  earthward  with  the  dew  ; 
Well  she  knew  the  happy  singer, 

Well  the  happy  song  she  knew. 


Forward  leaped  she  o'er  the  threshold, 

Eager  as  a  gleaming  surf ; 
Fell  from  her  the  spirit's  languor, 

Fell  from  her  the  body's  scurf ; 
Underneath  the  palm,  some  Arabs 

Found  a  corpse  upon  the  turf. 


tyt  tDinta. 

BY     HARRY     FRANCO. 

To  look  upon  creation  and  feel  your  heart  more 
sensibly  affected  by  one  object  than  another,  seems 
to  prove  an  imperfect  organization  which  debars 
you  from  appreciating  the  entire  bounties  of  the 
Creator.  It  is  very  evident  that  the  blind  can  never 
be  delighted  by  the  beauties  of  color,  nor  the  deaf 
comprehend  the  charms  of  music.  Some  men  fall 
into  ecstasies  at  the  sight  of  a  distant  mountain, 
while  others  experience  a  singular  pleasure  in  gazing 
upon  the  sea.  For  my  part,  I  do  not  know  what  par- 
ticular organs  may  lack  their  edge  in  my  composition, 
since  I  cannot  be  sensible  of  the  want  of  what  I  never 
enjoyed.  But  I  have  ever  been  conscious  of  a  pe- 
culiar gratification  in  the  feel  of  the  wind  that  I  never 
experienced  from  any  other  cause.  I  have  often 
sought  pleasure  from  this  source,  when  I  was  scarce- 
ly sensible  of  the  motive  which  influenced  me.  When 
a  very  small  boy,  I  used  to  climb  to  the  top  of  high 
hills  for  the  pleasure  of  revelling  in  the  fresh  breeze 
as  it  flew  by ;  and  my  first  dream  of  freedom  was 


THE    WINDS.  53 

the  open  sea,  where  there  was  nothing  between  me 
and  the  winds.  Many  a  time  have  I  wished  myself 
one  of  the  dwarf  cedars  that  fringed  the  bleak  hill  at 
the  back  of  my  father's  house, — the  winds  seemed 
to  take  such  delight  in  rustling  through  them.  Many 
a  winter's  night  in  my  boyhood  have  I  heard  the 
nor'westers  carousing  in  the  forest,  roaring  and 
screeching  among  their  dry  branches,  and  wished 
myself  among  them.  It  never  mattered  whence  came 
the  wind  if  it  only  came  strong  and  fresh,  although  I 
confess  to  a  partiality  for  a  sou'wester.  There  is 
such  grandeur  and  majesty  in  him,  such  determina- 
tion in  his  gradual  development,  as  though  he  felt  his 
power,  and  let  himself  out  by  degrees  on  purpose  to 
keep  your  curiosity  on  the  stretch  to  know  to  what 
lengths  he  really  intended  to  go.  For  you  can  never 
know  how  strong  a  sou'wester  is  until  he  begins  to 
hold  up.  While  he  blows,  he  goes  on  increasing. 
Very  different  is  it  with  a  nor'wester,  who  comes 
tearing  and  shrieking,  with  his  best  foot  foremost, 
without  warning  or  preparation,  and  then  sneaks  off 
like  a  boaster  and  a  craven.  But  nor'westers  have  a 
considerable  capacity  for  mischief,  blusterers  as  they 
are,  and,  of  a  winter  night,  they  set  the  whole  world 
a-screeching.  Even  at  sea,  where,  it  might  be  sup- 
posed, the  dampness  of  the  air  would  blunt  the  edge 
of  every  thing,  they  dry  up  the  cordage,  and  cat 
heads,  and  davits,  until  they  make  a  noise  as  sharp 
%nd  piercing  as  though  they  were  rustling  through 


54  THE    WINDS. 

key-hoies  and  broken  panes  of  glass.  The  sailors 
call  nor' westers,  screamers  ;  and  for  very  palpable 
reasons.  However,  I  like  a  nor'wester  in  spite  of 
all  his  defects. 

Birds  always  seemed  to  me  to  be  the  happiest  and 
most  blessed  of  God's  creatures.  0  what  a  glorious 
life  they  must  lead  of  it — always  aloft  upon  the  bo- 
som of  the  wind.  Eagles,  hawks,  king-fishers,  and 
stormy-petrels,  are  the  ones  which  excite  my  envy 
most.  I  never  was  guilty  of  the  cruelty  of  confining 
a  bird  in  a  cage,  but  many  a  one  have  I  restored  to 
liberty.  A  relative  brought  me  from  Canton,  a  few 
years  since,  a  cage  full  of  Java  sparrows.  There 
were  a  dozen  of  the  beautiful  creatures  ;  and  he  had 
been  at  infinite  pains  to  preserve  them  during  a  long 
voyage,  sharing  his  water  with  them  when  he  was  on 
short  allowance.  I  appreciated  his  kindness,  but  1 
could  have  killed  him  for  his  cruelty.  Poor  little 
prisoners  !  I  looked  at  them  with  tears  in  my  eyes, 
and  as  soon  as  I  got  the  cage  in  my  possession,  I 
took  them  upon  the  house-top,  and,  opening  the  door 
of  their  bamboo  prison,  let  them  go  whither  they 
pleased. 

I  do  not  remember  any  pictured  legend  that  ever 
left  so  deep  an  impression  upon  my  memory  as  a 
coarse  wood-cut  which  represented  a  flight  of  witches 
on  broom-handles.  They  were  careering  on  the 
wings  of  a  tornado,  with  their  rags  and  raven  locks 
fluttering  about  them,  while  the  evil  one  sat  crouched 


THE  WINDS. 


in  a  black  cloud,  like  a  toad.  Although  I  was  very 
young  when  I  encountered  this  terrible  picture,  I  re- 
member that  it  gave  me  a  feeling  of  pleasure,  and  1 
wished  myself  a  witch,  that  I  too  might  ride  on  a 
hurricane. 

No  verse  ever  made  so  vivid  an  impression  upon 
my  imagination  as  did  Smollett's  Apostrophe  to  Free 
dom  : 

"  Thy  spirit,  Independence,  let  me  sha.'e, 
Lord  of  the  lion-heart  and  eagle  eye  ! 

And  brave  the  tempest  with  my  bosom  bare, 
Nor  heed  the  blast  that  howls  along  the  sky." 

Indeed,  they  are  the  only  four  lines  of  poetry  that 
I  ever  could  get  by  heart,  and  I  am  not  certain  that 
I  have  quoted  them  to  a  letter.     Bryant's  two  odes, 
"  To  the  Evening  Wind,"  and  "  The  Winds,"  are 
beautiful  and  grand,    but  they  do    not  impress   me 
like  a  blast.     They  are  the  poetry  of  wind,  and  nol 
wind  itself.     For  a  similar  reason,  no  wind-instru 
ment  ever  affected  me,  not  even  the  grandest  organ ; 
for   what    is    a    pair    of  bellows    compared   with  a 
sou'wester  or  a  pampara  ?     It  is  not  enough  for  me 
to  hear  the  wind  ;  unless  I  can  feel  it,  half  my  enjoy- 
ment is  wanting.     Claudio's  fear  of  death,  in  Meas- 
ure for  Measure,   "  to  be  imprisoned  in  the  viewless 
winds,  and  blown  with  restless  violence  round  aboul 
the  pendent  world,"  instead  of  a  state  to  dread,  al- 
ways seemed  a  very  delightful  condition.     The  fate 


56  THE    WINDS. 

of  the  "  Ancient  Mariner,"  doomed  to  a  breathless 
ocean,  on  the  contrary,  gave  me  such  a  feeling  of 
horror  when  I  first  read  it,  that  I  have  never  been 
able  to  look  at  the  poem  a  second  time.  I  do  not 
know  that  Coleridge  was  as  sensitive  to  the  winds  as 
myself,  but  I  think  that  he  would  have  been,  for  a 
timid  mind  would  never  have  dreamed  of  extracting 
horrors  out  of  a  dead  calm.  The  inhabitants  of  hilly 
countries  can  appreciate  the  pure  delights  of  a  fresh 
breeze,  but  sailors  only  can  know  in  perfection  the 
delights  of  a  hurricane.  The  wind  cannot  have  full 
swing  except  on  the  ocean,  and  nothing  less  than  a 
ship  can  fitly  dally  with  this  amazing  power. 

I  shall  never  forget  my  first  gale  on  the  ocean. 
We  were  about  half-way  across  the  Atlantic.  At 
sunset  there  was  a  heavy  bank  of  clouds  in  the  west, 
which  began  to  rise  very  rapidly  as  the  sun  went 
down.  The  barometer  fell  ten  degrees  in  half  an 
hour.  Our  captain  remarked  to  the  mate  that  we 
should  have  a  "  screamer  ;"  the  mate  replied  that  it 
had  a  "  greasy  look,"  and  immediately  began  to  give 
orders  for  shortening  sail.  The  crew  worked  smart- 
ly, for  they  felt  the  need  of  making  all  snug.  The 
barometer  continued  to  fall,  and  the  wind  continued 
to  rise.  There  were  no  flaws,  no  sudden  puffs,  no 
spasms,  but  a  gradual,  though  rapid,  increase  of  force. 
Every  minute  it  blew  harder.  The  waves  rose  with 
the  wind.  Our  ship  labored  hard  at  first,  and  was 
put  before  it,  but  as  there  was  danger  of  her  swamp 


THE  WINDS.  57 

mg,  it  was  deemed  prudent  to  heave  her  to  ;  and  as 
she  came  up  broadside  to  the  blast,  it  seemed  impos 
sible  that  she  should  resist  its  fury.  She  yielded  tc 
its  tremendous  power,  however,  and  lay  for  nearly 
an  hour  almost  on  her  broadside  ;  the  three  close- 
reefed  topsails  were  torn  from  the  yards  as  though 
they  were  cobwebs  ;  the  top-gallant  masts  went  next 
The  crew  lashed  themselves  to  the  rigging,  and  no- 
body seemed  to  think  of  any  thing  but  personal  secu- 
rity. The  captain  could  scarcely  make  himself  heard 
by  those  who  stood  at  his  elbow,  even  through  his 
speaking-trumpet.  The  night  was  very  dark,  but 
the  foam  of  the  sea  cast  a  strange,  lurid  light  upon 
the  ship's  deck.  Huge  mountains  of  snowy  foam 
threatened  every  moment,  to  bury  us  beneath  an  ava- 
lanche of  brine.  Down  we  went  into  terrible  depths 
of  blackness,  and  then  we  rose  again  as  if  hurled  up- 
on the  highest  peaks  of  the  Alps.  It  was  impossible 
to  face  the  wind,  and  even  breathing  became  difficult. 
Every  moment  we  thought  that  it  could  blow  no 
harder,  but  still  it  kept  increasing.  The  sound 
caused  by  it  was  like  incessant  claps  of  thunder.  A 
roar  of  artillery  would  be  a  feeble  comparison.  Many 
of  the  ropes  had  got  loose,  and  some  remnants  of  the 
sails  still  clung  to  the  yards,  and  these  snapped  and 
cracked  like  millions  of  coach- whips.  I  had  been 
prudent  enough  in  the  beginning  to  lash  myself  to  a 
ring-bolt  on  the  weather  side  of  the  deck,  and  there 
T  sat  secure  and  unruffled,  enjoying  the   terrible  ex 


58  THE    WINDS. 

hibition.  This  was  a  sou'wester.  I  thought  it  a 
rather  novel  affair ;  it  was  so  to  me  at  least,  and  left 
nothing  to  wish  for  in  the  way  of  wind.  There  ia 
more  grandeur,  perhaps,  in  a  pampara,  more  pomp 
and  circumstance  than  in  a  sou'wester,  or  any  other 
wind  ;  but  it  is  always  performed  according  to  well- 
defined  rules  and  regulations,  and  may  be  termed  the 
epic  poetry  of  storms.  It  has  a  beginning,  a  middle, 
and  an  end.  All  the  elements  enter  into  its  compo- 
sition. It  is  very  grand  on  shore,  in  the  open  pam- 
pas, but  it  is  seen  to  best  advantage  at  sea,  like  all 
other  winds.  It  is  well,  however,  not  to  be  too  far 
from  land,  lest  you  lose  some  of  its  elements,  such, 
for  instance,  as  pebbles,  dust,  branches  of  trees, 
feathers,  hair,  &c. 

The  pampara  gives  timely  notice  of  his  approach  , 
and  if  you  fail  to  make  proper  preparations  for  his 
coming,  the  fault  will  be  your  own.  He  loves  to 
appear  at  the  close  of  a  hot,  still  day,  although  he 
sometimes  comes  at  noon,  and  sometimes  in  the 
night ;  it  is  the  only  thing  in  which  he  is  not  regular 
and  orderly.  The  sky  is  clear,  the  wind  low,  the 
sun  has  just  sunk  beneath  the  waves,  when  suddenly 
a  bank  of  .yellowish  vapor  (as  though  the  sun  had 
been  extinguished  in  the  ocean,  and  this  were  the 
steam  rising  in  consequence)  appears  in  the  south- 
west. Vivid  flashes  of  lightning  immediately  follow 
and  the  exhalation  rises  and  spreads  itself,  growing 
yellower  and  more  murky.     Soon  a  low  moaning  ii 


THE  WINDS.  59 

heard,  biids  fly  screaming  overhead,  a  few  drops  of 

rain  fall,  the  cloud  spreads  with  frightful  rapidity;  then 

come  hail,  and  dust,  and  a  strong  odor  of  earth ;  the 

atmosphere  grows  sulphurous  ;  the  wind  keeps  al 

the  time  increasing,   first  a  moan,   then  a   wail,   » 

shriek,  and  then  it  roars.     It  blows  now  as  you  nevei 

heard  it  blow  before  ;  it  thunders,  lightens/rains,  and 

hails;  your  eyes  are  filled  with  dust;  the  leaves  of 

trees,  blossoms,  and  the  hair  of  cattle  fall   around 

you.     The  cloud  passes  over,  the  thunder  ceases, 

the  lightning  is  done,  the  hail  disappears,  but  the  ram 

continues  to  pour  and  the  wind  to  roar  for  the  next 

day  or  two,  and  then  they  disappear,  and  the  sun 

comes  out  again.     A  pampara  is  very  well  once,  but 

a  repetition  is  not  a  thing  to  be  desired. 

The  pleasantest  breeze  that  ruffles  the  bosom  of 
the  deep  is  the  northeast  trade,  that  blows  in  mid 
ocean  between  Africa  and  America.     If  the  pampara 
may  be  called  the  epic,  the  trades  will  be  entitled  to 
the  term  o£-,lyric  among  the  winds.     Bright  suns, 
light  feathery  clouds,  blue  skies,  and  a  jocund,  laugh- 
ing sea  always  belong  to  it.     It  is  the  purest  and 
most  joyous  breath  of  heaven.     You  no  sooner  reach 
its  influences  than  you  seem  to  enter  a  new  world 
and  gain  a  new  sense  of  enjoyment.     It  seems  like  a 
run-a-way  from  Paradise— it  is  all  gladness  and  beau- 
ty, youth  and  innocence.     It  is  the  only  thing  that 
Visits  our  globe  without  a  taint  of  sin  or  death.     But 
it  never  sweeps  over  the  earth.     It  goes  laughing  and 


60  THE    WINDS. 

frolicking  over  the  sea,  dimpling  its  surface  with 
smiles,  and  creating  gladness  and  joy  in  the  hearts 
of  all  who  feel  it ;  before  it  reaches  the  shore  it  dies 
away  as  mysteriously  as  it  sprang  into  being 
Whence  it  comes,  or  why  it  blows,  has  puzzled 
many  a  philosopher  ;  but  its  existence  is  still  as  great 
a  mystery  as  when  Dr.  Martin  Lister,  with  more  poe- 
try than  philosophy,  attributed  it  to  the  daily  exhale- 
ment  of  the  ocean  flower,  lenticula  marina,  which 
grows  in  vast  quantities  in  the  tropic  seas.  It  is  in- 
deed like  the  breath  of  an  ocean  Flora  ;  but  this 
theory  has  never  found  favor  with  the  learned.  If 
angels  ever  visit  our  planet,  the  region  of  the  trade- 
winds  must  be  their  favorite  resort.  There  is  no 
green  isle  there  to  receive  them,  but  they  may  float 
over  the  bluest  sea  and  in  the  softest  air  that  our  globe 
is  blessed  with.  How  cheering  it  must  have  bee* 
to  Columbus  and  his  crew  when  they  first  struck  this 
vein  of  aerian  loveliness  !  but  then  they  were  fright- 
ened lest  they  should  never  be  able  to  return  to  their 
homes,  while  such  a  breeze  continual. y  blew  in  an 
adverse  direction. 


<&!)£  QxsUvs    @rat)c. 

A  Reminiscence  of  Roath  Church-yard,  South  WaU*. 

BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  "  PEN  AND  INK  SKETCHES." 

It  was  a  tranquil  summer  eve, 

When  by  a  village  church  I  stood, 
With  two  fair  children,  thoughtful-eyed 

In  the  green  solitude  : 
The  leaves  scarce  flutter'd  overhead ; 

The  brook  which  idly  wander'd  by, 
Upon  its  surface,  clear  and  calm, 

Mirror'd  a  cloudless  sky ; 
And  earth,  in  all  its  glories  dress'd, 
Was  tranquil  as  an  angel's  breast. 

The  solemn  stillness  of  the  place 

Was  only  broken  by  the  chime 
From  the  old  turret-bell,  which  swung 

At  that  unwonted  time  : 
It  summon'd  to  a  new-made  grave, 

Which  claim'd  its  unresisting  prey  ; 
Around  us  stern  memorials  frown'd, 

Themselves  in  slow  decay  ; 


62  the  sisters'  grave. 

Life's  tale  was  writ  our  feet  beneatn, 

In  but  two  chapters, — Birth  and  Death  ! 

They  come,  a  silent,  mournful  band, 

To  lay  within  its  narrow  bed 
The  wreck  of  beauty,  youth,  and  hope, — 

The  lost — the  early  dead  ! 
When  the  pale  primrose  sprang  to  light, 

When  violets  deck'd  the  hedge-row's  gloom, 
She  pluck'd  them,  and  their  blossoms  laid 

Upon  a  sister's  tomb  ; 
And  oft  within  the  gray  church-shade, 
The  maiden's  pensive  footstep  stray'd. 

A  few  brief  weeks,  and  she  hath  pass'd 

The  gates  which  life  and  death  divide  ; 
The  sisters  in  the  grave's  dark  home, 

Lie  sleeping  side  by  side. 
Unconscious  each  of  sisterhood, 

Their  bodies  "  rest  in  hope"  together 
Till  angel-tongues,  when  earth  dissolve, 

Shall  whisper — "  Come  up  hither! 
Come  to  the  realms  of  life,  of  light ! 
Awake  !  arise  !  be  infinite  !" 

And  should  we  weep  for  those  who  die 
In  youth,  ere  life's  bright  sun  declines, — 

Ere  time  hath  dimm'd  the  radiant  eye, 
Or  sorrow  plough'd  its  lines  ? 


the  sisters'  grave.  63 

Serenely  sleeping  on  the  breast 

Of  earth,  they  wait  the  judgment-day, 

And  we,  who  con  their  epitaphs, 
Are  not  so  calm  as  they  ! 

Ours  is  the  strife — the  doubt — the  pain — 

Which  they  may  never  know  again. 

The  last  look  in  the  coffin-lid 

Which  hides  the  sleeping  dust,  its  given, 
As  stars  shine  faintly,  one  by  one, 

On  the  dim  face  of  heaven  !         • 
The  grave  is  closed,  and  o'er  it  laid 

The  cold  and  gray  sepulchral  stone ; 
The  mourners  quit  the  place  of  graves, 

And  she  is  left  alone, 
With  but  chill  dews  to  weep  above 
The  grave  of  youth  and  buried  love. 

As  from  the  spot  I  turn'd  away, 

The  children  gave  no  outward  sign 
Of  sorrow,  but  each  little  hand 

Clasp'd  with  a  firmer  pressure  mine  : — ■ 
'Twas  the  simplicity  of  Fear  ! 

They  knew  but  little  of  the  tomb, 
Yet  o'er  their  infant  hearts  it  cast 

A  vague,  mysterious  gloom, 
As  mists  obscure  the  sun's  first  ray, 
And  darken  e'en  the  dawn  of  day. 

Boston,  August,  1845. 

4 


Jtto^agan    Missions. 

f  BY  MISS  F.  M.  CAULKINS. 

John  Elliot,  so  often  and  so  justly  styled  the  In- 
dian apostle,  may  be  considered  the  earliest  Prot 
estant  missionary  of  modern  times.  As  far  as  we 
know,  he  is  the  first  to  whom  the  conversion  of  the 
heathen  was  the  prominent  object  of  prayer  and  la- 
bor, who  devoted  himself  to  it  from  choice,  prepared 
himself  for  it  by  arduous  toil,  and  pursued  it  through 
life  with  unremitted  perseverance.  Though  Thomas 
Mayhew  was  in  the  field  of  actual  labor  before  him, 
yet  Elliot's  self-consecration  to  the  work,  and  pre- 
paratory study  of  the  language,  was  anterior  to  any 
similar  known  design,  either  of  Mayhew  or  others.  He 
was  engaged  in  acquiring  the  necessary  information  re- 
specting the  tribes,  and  in  learning  their  language,  in 
1641  ,  how  much  earlier  his  heart  had  been  fixed, 
and  his  mind  intent  upon  the  great  project,  cannot  be 
told  -     Mavhew  commenced  preaching  to  the  natives 


MOHEAGAN  MISSIONS.  65 

of  Martha's  Vineyard  in  1643.  Elliot's  first  sermon 
to  the  Indians  at  Nonantum*  was  October  28,  1646 
His  translation  of  the  Bible  into  their  tongue  was 
published  in  1663.  Such  was  the  commencement 
of  Indian  missions. 

The  flame  that  glowed  in  the  bosoms  of  these  ex- 
cellent men  set  fire  to  other  hearts,  till  a  desire  to 
bring  the  aborigines  of  the  country  under  the  shadow 
of  the  Christian  banner,  became  general  with  the 
New  England  clergy  of  that  day.  In  Connecticut, 
no  pastor  was  more  deeply  imbued  with  the  mission- 
ary spirit  than  the  Rev.  James  Fitch.  Norwich,  of 
which  he  was  one  of  the  original  proprietors,  and 
first  minister,  was  planted  in  1660,  in  the  very  heart 
of  the  Moheagan  territory.  The  villages  of  that  tribe 
were  clustered  upon  its  southern  border,  and  on  all 
sides  it  was  overshadowed  and  surrounded  with  their 
tents  and  hunting-bands.  No  sooner  was  the  settle- 
ment established  and  consolidated,  than  Mr.  Fitch 
turned  his  attention  to  the  improvement  and  conver- 
sion of  the  heathen  around  him.  This  seemed  an 
almost  hopeless  task  ;  without  trust  in  the  divine  aid, 
no  man  would  have  undertaken  it.  The  Moheagans 
were  peculiarly  warlike  and  savage,  deeply  imbued 
with  Pequot  energy,  engaged  in  continual  quarrels 
with  other  tribes,  and  in  all  their  passions  and  pur- 
suits unfriendly  to  the  religion  of  peace  and  forbear- 

*  A  hill  at  the  northeast  corner  of  Newton,  Mass. 


66 


MOHEAGAN    MISSIONS. 


ance.*     Mr  Elliot,  in  one  of  his  tracts,  has  these  ob 
servations  :— 

"  The  Monohegen  Indians  were  much  troubled  lest  the 
court  should  take  some  course  to  teach  them  to  pray  to  Goa. 
Unkus  their  sachem  accordingly  went  to  Hartford,  where  the 
court  sat,  and  expressed  his  fears  of  such  a  thing,  and  mani- 
fested great  unwillingness  thereunto."! 

Mr.  Elliot  himself  was  afterwards  foiled  m  an  at- 
tempt which  he  made  to  interest  the  Connecticut  tribes 
in  the  Christian  religion.  Being  at  Hartford  attending 
a  council  of  ministers  in  the  year  1657,  at  his  request 
the  Podunks  and  other  Indians  were  convened,  and 
he  addressed  them  in  their  own  language,  explaining 
the  great  truths  of  Christianity  in  terms  adapted  to 
their  understanding.  At  the  close  of  his  sermon,  he 
desired  of  them  an  explicit  declaration  whether  they 
would  accept  of  Jesus  Christ  for  their  Saviour. 
"  But  their  chief  men,"  says  Trumbull,  "  with  great 
scorn  and  resentment,  utterly  refused."  Perhaps  no 
Moheagans  were  present  at  this  meeting,  but  in  all 
the  darker  traits  of  character,  and  particularly  in 
their  hostility  to  the  religion  of  Christ,  they  probably 
surpassed  the  Podunks. 

At  a  subsequent  period,  Mr.  Fitch,  in  speaking  of 


*  Hist,  of  Conn.,  Chap.  xix. 
t  Moore's  Life  of  Elliot,  p.  57. 


MOHEAGAN  MISSIONS.  67 

the  Moheagans  and  their  sachems — "  Unkus  and  his 
son,  and  Wanupo,"* — says  of  them 

'"  These  at  first  carried  it  teachably  and  tractably,  until  at 
length  the  sachems  did  discern  that  religion  would  not  con- 
sist of  a  mere  receiving  the  word,  and  that  practical  religion 
will  throw  down  their  heathenish  idols,  and  the  sachems'  ty- 
rannical monarchy  ;  and  then  the  sachems  did  not  only  go 
away,  but  drew  off  the  people,  some  by  flatteries  and  some  by 
threatenings,  and  they  would  not  suffer  them  to  give  so  much 
as  an  outward  attendance  to  the  ministry  of  the  word  of 
God." 

Nor  was  the  hostility  of  Unkus  to  Christianity 
softened  by  subsequent  intercourse  with  the  English, 
or  the  persevering  appeals  of  Mr.  Fitch.  So  late  as 
the  year  1674,  we  find  him  manifesting  the  same  spirit. 
In  that  year  Elliot  and  Major-general  Gookin,  in 
their  missionary  tour  among  the  Indian  tribes,  visited 
the  Indian  villages  upon  the  Quinnabaug,  and  held  a 
council  in  the  tent  of  a  sagamore  who  resided  at  Wa 
baquisset,  in  a  part  of  what  is  now  Woodstock.  A 
great  part  of  the  night  was  spent  in  prayer,  singing, 
and  exhortation,  and  many  of  the  Indians  present  ap 
pear  to  have  been  sincere  converts.  But  the  narra- 
tive adds  : 

"  There  was  a  person  among  them,  who,  sitting  mute  a 
great  space,  at  last  spoke  to  this  effect : — that  he  was  agent 

*  Probably  a  misprint  for  Waweeko,  or  Waweekus,  the  brother 
of  Unkus. 


68  MOHEAGAN    MISSIONS. 

of  Unkus  the  sachem  of  Mohegan,  who  challenged  right  to 
and  dominion  over  this  people  of  Wabaquisit ;  and,  said  he, 
Unkus  is  not  well-pleased  that  the  English  should  pass  over 
Mohegan  river  to  call  his  Indians  to  pray  to  God."* 

The  blindness  and  obstinacy  of  Unkus  appear  the 
more  extraordinary,  as  he  always  regarded  Mr.  Fitch 
as  a  personal  friend,  received  many  benefits  from 
him,  and  gratefully  acknowledged  them  by  large 
grants  of  land  conferred  on  him  and  his  family.  Yet 
only  in  one  instance  does  the  sachem  seem  to  have 
cast  a  favorable  eye  upon  the  Christian  religion,  and 
this  was  when,  after  a  long  and  distressing  drought, 
Mr.  Fitch  called  a  special  meeting  to  pray  for  the 
blessing  of  rain  ;  and  almost  before  the  conclusion 
of  the  services,  the  rains  descended,  and  the  floods 
came.  This,  which  appeared  to  the  Indians  an  evi- 
dent miracle,  extorted  from  Unkus  the  reluctant  tes- 
timony that  "  the  Englishman's  God  was  the  true 
God."t  Yet  this  truth  does  not  seem  to  have 
affected  his  heart.  He  died  in  1683,  or  the  early 
part  of  1684;  and  from  all  that  appears  to  the 
contrary,   Cotton  Mather  was  not  out  of  the  way 

*  Gookin's  Hist.  Ace.  of  Inds.     Coll.  Mass.  Hist.  Soc,  Vol.  i. 

t  This  anecdote  is  thus  related  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Noyse  of  Sto- 
nington,  a  contemporary  authority : — "  I  have  heard  that  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Fitch  did,  at  the  request  of  the  Moheags,  keep  a  fast  for  rain, 
in  the  time  of  a  great  drought,  when  their  powaws  had  long  cried 
for  rain  ;  and  God  answered  by  setding  rain  the  same  day,  to  the 
great  astonishment  of  the  heathen."     Magnalia,  Book  vi 


MOHEAGAN  MISSIONS.  69 

when  he  characterized  him  as  "  an  obstinate  in- 
fidel."* 

In  contradistinction  to  the  example  of  Unkus,  we 
may  place  that  of  Wequash,t  a  sachem  of  far  inferior 
grade,  but  who,  like  Unkus,  was  a  revolted  Pequot, 
and  took  part  with  the  English  in  their  attacks  upon 
that  barbarous  tribe.  After  the  destruction  of  the 
Pequot  fort,  and  the  extirpation  or  captivity  of  most 
of  his  nation,  he  resided  near  the  English,  and  be- 
came an  earnest  inquirer  after  the  truth.  He  was  so 
importunate  in  his  appeals  for  religious  instruction, 
that  in  his  visits  to  his  English  friends,  he  would 
caijse  them  to  spend  more  than  half  the  night  in  con- 
versing with  him.  Often  would  he  smite  upon  his 
breast,  and,  complaining  of  his  wicked  heart,  exclaim, 
"  Wequash  no  know  God  !  Wequash  no  know  Je- 
sus Christ  !"t  But  he  was  afterwards  brought  to  a 
knowledge  of  the  truth  which  he  sought,  and  went 
up  and  down  among  his  countrymen  proclaiming  the 
religion  of  Christ.  His  death  was  supposed  to  have 
been  occasioned  by  poison  administered  by  some  of 
his  countrymen,  who  hated  him  for  the  boldness  and 
perseverance  with  which  he  preached  the  gospel  to 
them. 

Wequash  may  be  regarded  as  the  fust  Indian  con- 
vert— certainly  of  Connecticut,  if  not  of  New  Eng- 

*  Magnalia,  Book  iii.,  Life  of  Elliot.         t  Alias,  Wequashkook. 
t  Hubbard's  Hist,  of  New  England. 


70  MOHEAGAN    MISSIONS. 

land.    He  died  in  1642.    Governor  Winthrop's  testi. 
mony  concerning  him  is  as  follows  : 

"  One  Wequash  Cook,  an  Indian,  living  about  Connecticut 
River's  mouth,  and  keeping  much  at  Saybrook  with  Mr.  Fen- 
wick,  attained  to  good  knowledge  of  the  things  of  God,  and 
salvation  by  Christ,  so  as  he  became  a  preacher  to  other  In- 
dians, and  labored  much  to  convert  them,  but  without  any  ef- 
fect ;  for  within  a  short  time  he  fell  sick,  not  without  suspicion 
of  poison  from  them,  and  died  very  comfortably."* 

Another  contemporary  record  respecting  him  is  b) 
an  eminent  clergyman  to  this  effect : 

"  Wequash,  the  famous  Indian  at  the  river's  mouth,  is  feaA 
and  certainly  in  heaven :  gloriously  did  the  grace  of  Go4 
shine  forth  in  his  conversation  a  year  and  a  half  before  hi* 
death.  He  knew  Christ ;  he  loved  Christ  ;  he  preached 
Christ  up  and  down,  and  then  suffered  martyrdom  for  Christ ; 
and  when  he  died,  he  gave  his  soul  to  Christ,  and  his  only 
child  to  the  English,  in  this  hope,  that  the  child  would  know 
more  of  Christ  than  its  poor  father  did." 

The  conversion  of  Wequash  was  doubtless  an  in- 
cert^  to  Mr.  Fitch,  as  well  as  to  Mr.  Noyes  of 
Stonington,  another  laborer  among  the  Indians,  to 
continue  their  exertions,  notwithstanding  the  hostility 
of  the  chief  sachems  to  Chrisi/anity.  Mr.  Fitch 
indeed  could  not  be  daunted.  He  sought  opportuni- 
ties of  conversing  with  the  Moheagans  ;  opened  his 

*  Winthrop's  New  Eng.,  Vol.  ii.  p.  74. 


MOHEAGAN  MISSIONS.  71 

house,  heart,  stores  to  them  ;  visited  them  around 
their  hearth-stones  under  the  tent-poles  of  the  wil- 
derness, and  soon  acquired  a  sufficient  knowledge 
of  their  language  to  make  it  the  vehicle  of  his  out- 
pouring mind.  And  as  in  the  case  of  his  divine 
Master,  though  the  rulers  scoffed,  a  portion  of  "  the 
common  people  heard  him  gladly."*  The  legislature 
of  the  colony  also  co-operated  with  him,  and  solemn- 
ly presented  a  copy  of  Elliot's  Indian  Bible  to  the 
Moheagan  sachems, t  enjoining  it  upon  them  to  be 
regular  in  their  attendance  upon  Mr.  Fitch's  lec- 
tures. Among  the  laws  for  the  regulation  of  the 
Indian  settlements  in  1675,  is  this  item  : 

"  It  is  ordered  that  a  regular  and  comely  attendance  be 
given  to  hear  the  word  of  God  preached  by  Mr.  Fitch,  or  any 
other  minister  sent  amongst  them." 

The  officers  appointed  over  them  were  to  give  them  rules, 
"  with  penalties  annexed,  for  prevention  of  their  having  or  wor- 
shipping any  false  gods,  profanation  of  the  Sabbath,  for  not 
attending  the  lectures  of  Mr.  Fitch  amongst  them  according 
to  his  appointment,  for  theft,  drunkenness,"  &c.J 

The  persevering  labors  of  Mr.  Fitch  were  crowned 
with  considerable  success.  A  little  band  of  converts, 
in  number  about  thirty,  was  won  from  the  dark  do- 
minion of  idolatry,  and  gathered  with  their  families 
into  a  settlement  by  themselves,  under  teachers  of 

*  Mark  xii.  37.  t  Trumbull's  Conn.,  Chap.  xix. 

I  Hinman's  Antiquities,  pp.  91,  94. 


72  MOHEAGAN    MISSIONS. 

their  own.  "  For  the  settlement  and  encouragement 
of  these  Indians,"  says  Mr.  Fitch,  "  I  have  given 
them  of  mine  own  lands,  and  some  that  I  procured 
of  our  town,  above  three  hundred  acres  of  good  im 
provable  lands,  and  made  it  sure  to  them  and  theirs, 
as  long  as  they  go  on  in  the  ways  of  God."*  Ac- 
cessions were  afterwards  made  to  this  interesting 
company,  till  it  numbered  forty  adult  members.1 
We  must  again  quote  Mr.  Fitch,  to  show  the  charac- 
ter of  their  teachers  and  head  men  : 

"  He  that  is  chief  among  them,  whose  name  is  Weebax, 
hath  learned  so  much  that  he  is  willing-  and  able  in  some  de- 
gree to  be  helpful  in  teaching  and  prayer  to  the  others  on  the 
Lord's  day.  And  this  Weebax  is  of  such  blameless  conver- 
sation that  his  worst  enemies  cannot  but  speak  well  of  his 
conversation ;  and  the  same  may  be  said  of  another,  whose 
name  is  Tuhamon." 

Such  was  the  result  of  the  first  mission  at  Mohea- 
gan.  In  Massachusetts,  the  seed  sown  by  Mr.  El- 
liot and  his  coadjutors  had  ripened  into  an  abundant 
harvest.  When  the  contest  with  Philip  began,  in 
1675,  the  number  of  Indian  villages  in  that  colony 
alone,  yielding  &  least  a  nominal  obedience  to  the 
Gospel,  was  fourteen .%     These  were  mostly  broken 

*  See  Letter  of  Mr.  Fitch  in  Gookin's  Mass.  Hist.  Coll.,  Vol.  i. 
t  Hist.  Am.  B.  C.  For.  Missions,  p.  8. 

t  This  enumeration  included  three  considerable  towns  on  the 
liver  Quinnabaug,  in  Woodstock,  a  town  now  belonging  to  Coif 


MOHEAGAN  MISSIONS.  73 

up,  never  again  to  be  reorganized.  Of  Mr.  Fitch's 
Indians  little  is  known  thenceforward,  but  that  the 
males  took  up  the  hatchet,  with  other  Moheagan  war- 
riors, in  defence  of  the  whites,  and  were  absent  on 
long  partisan  excursions  with  the  sachem  Oweneco. 
It  is  probable  that  their  families  being  much  scattered 
and  reduced,  the  whole  settlement  finally  flowed  back 
into  the  common  mass  of  the  tribe.  This,  however, 
may  not  have  taken  place  until  after  the  good  Mr! 
Fitch  had  rested  from  his  labors,  and  all  that  first 
generation,  gathered  into  the  fold  by  his  instrumental- 
ity, had  been  welcomed  by  their  divine  Lord  into  the 
mansions  of  bliss. 

The  blighting  influence  of  war  was  not  only  seen 
in  its  effects  upon  the  settlements  themselves,  but  it 
seems  to  have  crushed  the  very  spirit  that  formed 
them.     The  missionary  enterprise  languished.     The 
next  generation  forgot  the  vision  which  th*ir  fathers 
had  seen  of  the  wild  Indian  standing  upon  the  shore 
and  crying,  "  Come  over  and  help  us."*     They  for- 
got the  great  ostensible  motive  which  had  led  to  the 
olanting  of  the  New  England  colonies,  and  which 
formed  the  evangelical  plea  upon  which  their  charters 
were  granted,  viz.:  "to  win  and  incite  the  natives  of 
the  country  to  the  knowledge  and  obedience  of  the 
only  true  God  and  Saviour  of  mankind." 

necticut,  but  then  supposed  to  be  within  the  bounds  of  Massachu- 


setts. 


•  The  seal  of  tho  Massachusetts  colony  bore  this  device 


74  MOHEAGAN    MISSIONS. 

After  the  death  of  Mr.  Fitch,  the  efforts  made  lot 
.he  religious  improvement  of  the  Moheagans  were 
few  and  feeble.  We  need  not  be  surprised  that  the 
results  did  not  go  bevond  the  means.  Trumbul  ob- 
serves : 

"  The  ministers  of  the  several  towns  where  Indians  lived, 
instructed  them  as  they  had  opportunity  ;  but  all  attempts  for 
Christianizing  the  Indians  in  Connecticut  were  attended  with 
little  success.  Not  one  Indian  church  was  ever  gathered  by 
the  English  ministers  in  Connecticut.  Several  Indians,  how- 
ever, in  one  town  and  another,  became  Christians,  and  were 
baptized  and  admitted  to  full  communion  in  the  English 
churches."* 

This  want  of  success,  which  was  the  general 
theme  of  complaint  and  formed  the  excuse  for  inac- 
tion, was  undoubtedly  as  much  owing  to  the  ineffi- 
cient zeal  of  the  churches,  as  to  the  apathy  of  the 
Indian  character,  or  the  yearning  attachment  of  these 
poor  heathen  to  the  customs  of  their  ancestors. 
Wherever  truly  earnest  and  persevering  experiments 
have  been  made  to  bring  the  aborigines  of  North 
America  to  the  knowledge  of  the  truth,  the  Spirit  of 
God  has  vouchsafed  to  honor  the  work.  A  judicious 
historian  remarks  : 

'  The  result  has  shown  that  the  American  Indians,  com- 
pared with  other  heathen,  have  been  remarkable  for  both 
readiness  and  ability  to  perceive  and  admit  the  value,  both  o» 

*  Trumbull's  Hist.  Conn.,  Ch.  xix. 


MOHEAGAN  MISSIONS.  75 

Christianity  and  of  civilization.  Among  no  other  heathen  in 
modern  times  has  the  Gospel  had  such  early  and  decided  sue 
£ess.  No  other  savages  have  so  readily  thrown  off  their  bar- 
barism and  become  civilized  men."* 

The  missionary  history  of  the  Moheagans  will 
show  that  this  tribe  furnishes  no  exception  to  the 
tenor  of  Mr.  Tracy's  remarks.  They  have  ever 
been  found  to  have  hearts  as  impressible,  minds  is 
acute  and  inquiring,  as  their  white  neighbors  ;  to  be 
as  cordial  in  the  reception  of  the  Gospel  plan  of  sal- 
vation, and  as  steadfast  to  hold  out  to  the  end  as  any 
other  people  who,  like  them,  possess  few  advantages, 
and  are  exposed  to  great  temptations. 

When  Ben  Unkus,  the  younger,  acceded  to  the 
sachemship  in  1725,  a  large  Bible,  presented  to  his 
ancestors  by  Charles  II.,  was  ceremoniously  placed 
in  his  hands  by  the  commissioners  who  were  present 
at  his  installation  ;f  and  this  sachem  is  believed  to  be 
the  first  who  was  so  well  affected  towards  the  Chris- 
tian religion  as  not  to  oppose  its  introduction  among 
his  subjects.  A  school  was  established  at  a  very 
early  period  in  Moheagan  to  instruct  the  natives  in 
the  English  language,  in  morals,  religion,  &c,  and 
this  was  kept  up  with  some  interruptions  to  the  era 
of  the  American  revolution.     The  necessary  funds 

*  Hist.  Am.  B.  C.  F.  Miss 

t  Book  of  Proceedings  in  the  Mason  Controversy,  preserved  in 
Jbk  Btnte-house  at  Hartford. 


76  MOHEAGAN    MISSIONS. 

for  this  school  were  derived  from  the  commissioner 
of  the  United  Colonies,  or  from  benevolent  men  m 
Boston,  who  disbursed  the  sums  received  from  cer- 
tain charitable  societies  in  England,  and  added  thereto 
liberal  benefactions  from  their  own  stores.  The 
charitable  donors  often  expressed  their  disappoint- 
ment that  no  greater  advantages  resulted  from  this 
school.  There  is  reason  to  believe  that  this  was  in 
part  owing  to  the  unfaithfulness  of  the  teachers. 
The  heads  of  a  complaint  exhibited  against  one  of 
them  by  the  Indians  themselves,  were  as  follows  : 

"  1.  He  takes  a  great  number  of  English  children,  and 
they  take  room  from  the  Indian  children  and  keep  them  awav 
from  the  fire  in  the  coldest  seasons. 

"  2.  He  has  no  government  nor  authority  in  his  school, 
neither  does  he  hear  his  scholars  carefully. 

"  3.  He  does  not  pray  in  his  school,  neither  does  he  teach 
the  Indian  children  English  manners. 

"  4.  He  was  to  find  dinner  for  the  children,  and  he  turns 
them  off  with  any  thing. 

"  5.  He  has  been  away  from  his  school  many  a  day. 

"  6.  He  has  frequently  used  Indian  horses  without  leave  of 
their  owners."* 

It  was  in  this  school,  though  perchance  under  a 
more  assiduous  teacher,  that  Sampson  Aukum,t  a 

*  MS.  documents  found  at  Moheagan. 

t  In  the  signatures  of  the  tribe  to  public  documents,  the  name 
5f  his  ancestors  was  writAen  Aukum,  or  Aucum  ;  he  himself  adopt- 


MOHEAGAN  MISSIONS.  77 

routh  of  the  tribe,  bom  about  the  year  1723,  ac- 
quired the  first  rudiments  of  learning.  The  Rev. 
Mr.  Jewett,  minister  of  a  church  in  that  part  of  New 
London  called  North  Parish,  now  Montville,  a  man 
of  pure  evangelical  piety,  peaceful,  yet  fervent  in 
spirit,  and  full  of  tender  compassion  for  the  ignorant 
and  erring  red-men  in  his  vicinity,  was  accustomed 
once  a  fortnight  to  preach  in  Moheagan.*  His  au 
dience  was  composed  of  Indians  and  the  white  ten- 
ants who  had  obtained  leases  of  their  lands  and  lived 
on  farms  among  them.  Under  Mr.  Jewett's  preach- 
ing the  heart  of  Aukum  was  touched,  and  at  seven- 
teen years  of  age  he  became  a  hopeful  disciple  of  the 
truth.  This  was  about  the  time  of  the  great  revival 
of  religion  in  New  England,  and  the  Moheagans 
shared  in  some  degree  in  the  excitement.  Many  of 
the  neighboring  ministers  visited  them  and  gave  them 
occasional  instruction.  Whitefield,  in  one  of  his  tran- 
sits through  the  country,  preached  to  them  through 
an  interpreter,  nearly  the  whole  tribe  assembling  in 
a  grove  to  hear  him. 

The  youthful  Aukum  appears  to  have  imbibed  the 
missionary  spirit  with  his  first  conversion.  His  heart 
was  filled  with  longing  desires  to  benefit  his  benight 
ed  countrymen.  He  made  known  his  feelings  to  Mr 
Jewett.     Aided  and  encouraged  by  him  and  othei 

ed  the  orthography  of  Occom,  probably  after  the  example  of  Dt 
Wheelock. 

*   Allen's  Biographical  Dictionary 


78  MOHEAGAN    MISSIONS. 

benevolent  friends,  he  obtained  admission  into  the 
family  of  the  Rev.  Eleazar  Wheelock,  of  Lebanon, 
a  divine  of  enlarged  views  and  energetic  character, 
who  had  at  that  time  a  few  English  youths  under  his 
tuition  preparing  for  the  ministry.  Aukum  remained 
in  this  situation  five  years.  His  exemplary  deport- 
ment and  success  in  study  led  Dr.  Wheelock  to  adopt 
the  plan  of  an  Indian  mission  school,  where  a  band 
of  heathen  youth  might  be  trained  to  become  teach- 
ers of  their  countrymen  with  far  greater  prospect  of 
success  than  could  be  expected  from  the  labors  of 
English  ministers.  The  plan  of  such  an  establish- 
ment had  been  first  suggested  and  proposed  by  Mr. 
John  Sergeant,  missionary  to  the  Stockbridge  In- 
dians.* Dr.  Wheelock  revived  the  project,  and  pur- 
sued it  with  his  characteristic  ardor.  Indian  boys 
were  now  received  into  the  school  not  only  from  Mo- 
heagan,  but  from  Stockbridge,  from  the  Delawares, 
the  Oneidas,  and  various  other  tribes,  funds  being 
liberally  furnished  for  all  who  applied  for  admission 
from  the  stores  of  Christian  liberality. 

The  institution  subsequently  took  the  name  of 
Moor's  Indian  Charity  School,  a  farmer  of  Mansfield, 
named  Joshua  Moor,  having  added  largely  to  its 
funds.  To  this  seminary  Dr.  Wheelock  at  length 
determined  to  add  a  collegiate  institution,  where  both 

*  Holmes'  Am.  Annals,  sub  ami.  1769  Belknap's  Hist,  of  New 
Hampshire. 


MOHEAGAN  MISSIONS.  79 

English  and  Indians  might  be  prepared  for  mission- 
aries, or  for  service  in  other  departments  of  life.  To 
collect  the  necessary  funds,  Aukum  and  the  Rev. 
Nathaniel  Whitaker,  of  Norwich,  went  to  England, 
where  they  obtained  liberal  donations.  Both  the 
school  and  college  were  ultimately  established  at 
Hanover,  N.  H.,  under  the  presidency  of  Dr.  Whee- 
lock.  The  flourishing  institution  of  Dartmouth  Col- 
lege may  thus  be  traced  back,  like  the  Nile,  to  a  very 
small  source,  viz. :  the  attendance  of  a  Moheagan 
youth  on  the  occasional  ministry  of  an  English  cler- 
gyman in  the  vicinity  of  his  tribe. 

The  number  of  Indian  youths  instructed  by  Dr 
Wheelock  at  Lebanon  and  Hanover,  was  about  forty.* 
Of  these,  six,  and  perhaps  more,  were  intended  for 
missionaries.  Of  the  Moheagans,  only  two,  Aukum 
and  Joseph  Johnson,  have  left  a  name  and  history 
behind  them.  These,  m  their  day  and  among  their 
own  people,  were  widely  known  by  the  energy  they 
displayed  and  the  good  they  accomplished.  Their 
efforts  and  example  had  a  perceptible  influence  on 
the  tribe.  One  and  another  abandoned  their  vicious 
habits.  The  memory  is  still  fresh  among  them  of  a 
Zacchary  and  a  Martha,  a  Lucy  Tantaquidjin,  an 
Elaer  Cooper,!  a  Deacon  Peejees,  and  others,  who 

*  Allen's  Biographical  Dictionary,  article  Wheelock. 

t  Cooper  was  an  Indian  preacher  of  considerable  note.  He  and 
others  of  the  tribe  were  connected  with  a  Baptist  church  in  the  vi. 
cinity  of  Moheagan. 


80 


MOHEAGAN    MISSIONS. 


became  prominent  Christians  and  persevered  to 
the  end  in  a  life  of  piety.  At  this  period  they  had 
frequent  religious  services  it  was  a  second  part  to 
the  era  of  Mr.  Fitch.  The  kindred  fraternities  of 
Nahanticks,  in  Lyme,  and  Pequots,  in  Groton,  were 
also  refreshed.  At  the  former  place,  a  grave  and 
well-instructed  Indian  by  the  name  of  Philip,  was 
long  their  religious  leader.  At  Moheagan,  their 
kind-hearted  neighbors  from  Norwich  established  a 
singing-school,  and  this  exercise  more  than  any  other 
seemed  to  attract  them  to  the  Christian  standard,  to 
take  hold  of  their  feelings,  and  bind  them  to  the  new 
and  holy  way  of  life.  Long  afterwards,  when  this 
second  band  of  converts  had  gone  down  to  the  grave, 
and  the  sun  of  this  bright  day  had  set,  the  children 
of  these  worthies,  in  the  midst  of  their  darkness  and 
degradation,  would  recur  with  interest  to  the  great 
meetings  and  beautiful  singing  of  former  days. 

But  the  fiat  of  Providence  has  gone  forth  that  Ja- 
pheth  shall  possess  the  tents  of  Shem,  and  the  star 
of  the  red-man  must  still  fade  away  before  the  lustre 
of  the  European  sun.  In  the  early  part  of  the  18th 
century,  the  Moheagan s,  enjoying  the  repose  of 
peace  and  the  protection  and  favor  of  the  English, 
were  rapidly  increasing  in  numbers.  In  1745,  a  large 
number  of  the  warriors  enlisted  in  the  army  that  took 
Louisburg,  and  but  few  of  them  ever  returned.  The 
revolutionary  war  again  thinned  their  ranks.  A.  con- 
tagious disease  at  one  time  swept  off  forty  in  a  season  ■ 


MOHEAGAN  MISSIONS  8i 

ana  not  a  tew  of  them,  from  time  to  time,  ^migrated 
and  became  incorporated  with  other  tribes.  Only  a 
remnant  remained,  and  these  gradually  sunk  into  a 
state  of  moral  degradation,  dark  and  fatal  as  their 
ancient  heathenism.  The  insignificance  of  the  tribe 
in  point  of  numbers  and  character  may  perhaps  ac- 
count for  the  fact,  that  at  no  period  since  the  settle- 
ment of  the  country  have  their  white  neighbors  been 
so  forgetful  of  their  religious  interests  as  during  the 
latter  part  of  the  last  century  and  the  beginning 
of  the  present.  They  had  fallen  into  the  depths  of 
neglect  and  oblivion,  and  lay  by  the  wayside  help- 
less and  hopeless,  like  the  wounded  man  whom  the 
good  Samaritan  pitied,  and  healed  with  oil  and 
wine. 

In  this  forlorn  condition  m  point  of  morals,  educa- 
tion, and  religion,  they  remained  until  1827,  when 
the  sympathy  of  some  young  Christian  females  in 
Norwich  was  enlisted  in  their  behalf.  About  that 
time  Sarah  Breed  and  Sarah  Lanman  Huntington, 
both  of  Norwich,  commenced  a  series  of  personal 
services,  and  urgent  appeals  to  others  for  aid,  which 
m  the  course  of  four  or  five  years  procured  for  the  Mo- 
heagans  successively  a  Sabbath-school,  day-school, 
chapel,  parsonage,  school-house,  and  all  the  blessings 
of  an  organized  church  under  a  settled  pasi  or.  This 
example  of  successful  effort  is  so  eminently  calcu- 
lated to  stimulate  and  encourage  those  who  have  a 
desire  to  transform  any  portion  of  the  world's  wilder- 


82  MOHEAGAN    MISSION?. 

ness  into  a  garden  of  the  Lord,  however  young  then 
age,  or  feeble  their  strength,  or  limited  their  power, 
that  its  history  has  a  claim  to  be  recorded  with  the 
minuteness  of  detail, 

Of  Miss  Huntington,  afterwards  Mrs.  Eli  Smithy 
of  the  Palestine  Mission,  we  may  speak  without  re- 
serve, since  death  has  sanctified  her  memory,  and 
removed  her  to  that  fulness  of  joy  in  which  her  deli- 
cate self-renunciation  can  no  longer  be  wounded  by 
our  praise.  She  was  born  at  Norwich,  in  1802  ;  and 
while  still  in  the  bloom  of  youth  was  stamped  with 
the  seal  of  the  Spirit.  Her  missionary  heart  she  re- 
ceived in  1827,  and  immediately  thereupon  began  to 
put  forth  her  energies  to  redeem  the  time,  fixing  her 
eye  upon  those  who  were  perishing  every  passing 
hour,  as  well  as  upon  the  days  of  future  glory  prom- 
ised to  the  church.  The  zeal  of  her  excellent  asso- 
ciate kept  pace  with  hers.  The  first  object  that 
drew  them  from  the  sphere  c  f  their  own  church,  was 
the  project  of  opening  a  Sabbath-school  for  the  poor 
Indian  children  of  Moheagan.  Satisfied  that  this  was 
a  work  which  Heaven  would  approve,  they  marked 
3iit  their  plans,  and  pursued  them  with  untiring  en- 
ergy. Boldly  they  went  forth,  and,  guided  by  the 
rising  smoke  or  sounding  axe,  visited  the  Moheagans 
from  field  to  field,  and  from  hut  to  hut,  till  they 
had  thoroughly  informed  themselves  of  their  num- 
bers, condition,  and  prospects.  The  opposition  they 
encountered,  the  ridicule  and  opprobrium  showered 


MOHEAGAN  MISSIONS.  83 

upon  them  from  some  quarters,  the  sullenness  of  the 
natives,  the  bluster  of  the  white  tenants,  the  brush 
wood  and  dry  branches  thrown  across  their  path- 
way, could  not  discourage  them.  They  saw  no 
"  lions  in  the  way,"  while  Mercy  with  pleading  looks 
beckoned  them  forward. 

The  Moheagans  are  proprietors  of  a  reserved  tract 
of  two  thousand  seven  hundred  acres,  consisting  of 
hill  and  dale,  forest  and  cultivated  field,  along  the 
banks  of  the  Thames  between  Norwich  and  New 
London.  This  was  formerly  called  the  sequestered 
land ;  but  the  larger  part  of  it  is  now  occupied  by 
white  tenants.  The  number  of  the  tribe  at  this  pe- 
riod was  over  one  hundred ;  one-third  of  them  were 
children.*  The  nearest  church  was  four  or  five 
miles  distant,  and  they  had  no  schools  and  no  reli- 
gious instruction  whatever.  Only  one  person  was 
found  among  them  who  had  ever  professed  faith  in 
the  Christian  religion,  and  she  was  the  senior  of  five 
generations,  all  living  together  under  the  same  roof. 
This  venerable  woman,  Lucy  Tantaquidjin,  the  sis- 
ter of  Sampson  Aukum,  though  ninety-seven  years 
of  age,  was  still  able  to  speak  of  her  faith  and  hope, 
and  exhibited  pleasing  evidences  of  genuine  piety, 
yet  she  had  been  so  lorg  without  religious  instruc- 
lion  and  society  that  she  hesitated  to  call  herself  a 
Christian,  and  breathed  forth  many  affecting  confes- 

*  Miss  Huntington's  Letter  to  Hon.  Lewis  Cass,  Sec.  of  War 


84  MOHEAGAN    MISSIONS. 

eioii!;  of  her  wanderings  and  backslidings.  In  im 
kitchen  of  this  aged  witness  of  the  second  mission  al 
Moheagan,  our  two  new  missionaries,  pioneers  of  a 
third  era  of  blessing,  held  their  first  prayer-meeting, 
gathered  their  first  Sabbath-school.  Upon  this  an- 
cient trunk,  which  in  a  few  weeks  after  their  first 
visit  dropped  to  the  ground,  the  germ  of  a  new 
church  was  grafted,  which  now  bears  fruit,  and 
spreads  a  friendly  shadow  over  the  tribe. 

Wild  and  romantic  were  the  situations  in  which 
these  young  persons  often  found  themselves,  and 
well  calculated  to  kindle  the  fire  of  enterprise  in  ar- 
dent breasts.  Their  first  tours  in  Moheagan  were 
performed  partly  on  foot  and  partly  on  horseback  ;  in 
the  latter  case,  perchance,  "with  a  little  Indian  girl 
behind  on  the  horse  for  a  guide,  and  half-a-dozen 
other  children  following  on  foot,  talking  as  fast  as 
their  tongues  could  go."*  In  this  manner  they  thread- 
ed the  lanes  and  by-ways  of  the  sequestered  tract, 
stopping  at  every  hovel  to  give  notice  of  their  design 
and  endeavor  to  interest  the  inmates  m  its  favor. 
Often  were  their  adventures  stamped  with  a  deeper 
and  holier  character.  They  afterwards  reverted  to 
"  the  scenes  in  old  Lucy's  kitchen  and  under  the 
haystack,"  with  heartfelt  emotion,  and  doubtless  in 
heaven  they  will  talk. of  them  with  still  deeper  inter 
est      The  venerable  Lucy  died  in  January,  1830,  a 

»  Memoir  of  Mrs.  S.  L.  Smith,  p.  112 


MOJTRAGAN  MISSIONS.  85 

littje  before  the  Sabbath-school  commenced,  but  her 
family  so  far  partook  of  her  spirit  as  to  give  it  a  cor 
dial  welcome.  For  this  school  our  interesting  mis- 
sionaries, energetic,  ardent,  and  sanguine,  with  youth, 
health,  and  a  cheerful  trust  in  God,  usually  accom- 
panied by  some  efficient  coadjutor  of  the  other  sex, 
started  at  an  early  hour  every  Sunday  morning,  and 
walked  the  whole  distance,  (five  or  six  miles,)  return- 
ing in  the  same  way  at  night.  Before  the  expiration 
of  the  summer  they  had  forty  pupils,  quite  a  num- 
ber of  them  being  aged  or  adult  persons. 

Though  the  associate  of  Miss  Huntington  soon  re- 
moved to  a  distant  part  of  the  country,  yet  the  exer- 
tions  of  the   latter  to  benefit  the  Moheagans  were 
unremitted.     A  subscription  was  circulated,   and  a 
society  formed,  having  for  its  object  the  erection  of  a 
chapel  and  procuring  a  minister  for  the  inhabitants 
of  the  reservation,  including  whites  and  Indians.     Oi 
this  society,  Joseph  Williams,  Esq.,  was  president 
Miss  Huntington  was  active  and  untiring  in  circu- 
lating information  and  obtaining  subscriptions.     In 
November  of  the  same  year,  in  conjunction  with  an- 
other amiable   and   self-sacrificing   coadjutor,    Miss 
Elizabeth  Raymond,  who  resided  about  as  far  from 
the  scene  of  action  as  Miss  H.,  though  in  a  different 
direction,  she  began  a  day-school  for  the  Moheagans, 
which  was  continued  through  the  whole  of  a  long 
and  severe  winter.     Here  they  taught  the  rudiments 
of  learning  to  fifteen  or  sixteen  children  of  various 


3(5  MOHEAGAN    MISSIONS. 

ages,  two  married  women,  one  young  woman,  and 
one  young  man.  They  gave  the  women  also  ir- 
struction  in  sewing  and  making  articles  of  clothing 
for  males  and  females.  They  taught  their  pupils  to 
sing,  and  explained  the  Scriptures  daily  to  them.  In 
fact,  they  became  all  things  to  all  men,  and  were 
teachers,  advisers,  counsellors,  lawgivers,  milliners, 
mantuamakers,  tailoresses,  almoners,  as  occasion 
served,  and  they  saw  that  they  could  do  good.  By 
these  self-denying  efforts  these  young  persons  show 
ed  that  they  belonged  indeed  to  a  peculiar  people 
zealous  of  good  works  ;  and  those  natives  who  at 
first  could  not  believe  but  that  some  selfish  motive 
lay  at  the  bottom  of  this  zeal,  or  that  it  would  soon 
die  away,  gave  them  their  entire  confidence,  and  ex- 
tolled the  goodness  of  God  in  raising  them  up  such 
kind  friends. 

The  school  was  kept  in  a  house  on  Fort  Hill, 
leased  to  a  respectable  farmer  in  whose  family  the 
young  teachers  boarded  by  alternate  weeks,  each  go- 
ing to  the  scene  of  labor  every  other  Sabbath  morn- 
ing and  remaining  to  the  evening  of  the  succeeding 
Sabbath,  so  that  both  were  present  in  the  Sabbath- 
school,  which  was  twice  as  large  as  the  other.  A 
single  incident  will  serve  to  show  the  dauntless  reso- 
lution which  Miss  Huntington  carried  into  her  pur- 
suits. Just  at  the  expiration  of  one  of  her  terms  of 
service  during  the  winter,  a  heavy  and  tempestuous 
fall  of  snow  blocked  up  the  roads  with  such  high 


MOHEAGAN  MISSIONS  87 

drifts,  that  a  friend  who  had  been  accustomed  to  go 
for  her  and  convey  her  home  in  bad  weather,  and 
had  started  for  this  purpose  in  his  sleigh,  turned 
back,  discouraged.  No  path  had  been  broken,  and 
the  undertaking  was  so  hazardous  that  he  conceived 
no  female  would  venture  forth  at  such  a  time.  He 
therefore  called  at  her  father's  house  to  say  that  he 
should  delay  going  for  her  till  the  morrow.  What 
was  his  surprise  to  be  met  at  the  door  by  the  youn^ 
lady  herself,  who  had  reached  home  just  before,  hav- 
ing walked  the  whole  distance  on  the  hard  crust  of 
the  snow,  alone,  and  some  of  the  way  over  banks  of 
snow  that  entirely  obliterated  the  walls  and  fences  by 
the  roadside. 

In  one  of  the  letters  of  Miss  Huntington,  written 
from  Moheagan,  she  observes,  in  speaking  of  her 
duties — and  we  are  not  surprised  at  the  remark — 
"  every  energy,  mental  and  physical,  is  called  into 
requisition."  Nor  are  we  disinclined  to  admit  the 
fact  when  she  playfully  says,  in  writing  to  a  friend 
late  at  night—"  the  school  ma'am  begins  to  be 
weary."*  Surely  such  days  of  earnest  application, 
from  five  in  the  morning  to  ten  at  night,  for  one  ac- 
customed to  all  the  delicacies  and  refinements  of  life, 
gave  large  permission  to  be  iveary.     Yet  it  must  be 

*  For  verification  of  many  of  the  incidents  here  detailed,  see  the 
excellent  Memoir  of  Mrs.  Smth  by  Rev  E.  W.  Hooker  of  Ben- 
niugton. 

5 


68  MOHEAGAN    MISSIONS. 

granted  that  there  was  much  of  exciting  interest  and 
positive  enjoyment  in  these  occupations,  and  Miss  H. 
entered  into  them  with  a  keen  relish.  She  says — 
"  My  duties  here  are  delightful," — "  I  am  quite  satis- 
fied,"— "  My  circumstances  and  duties  are  altogether 
new,  and  sometimes  I  think  myself  in  a  dream." 
Her  interest  in  the  Moheagans  was  rendered  more 
intense  by  an  opinion  which  she  cherished  that  the 
aborigines  of  America  were  descendants  of  the  lost 
tribes  of  Israel.  The  following  is  an  extract  from 
one  of  her  letters  : — "  I  have  just  now  returned  from 
a  visit  to  a  dying  man.  As  he  lay  upon  his  bed,  pale 
and  emaciated,  I  felt  a  strong  conviction  that  the  In- 
dians are  really  Israelites  ;  so  strikingly  did  the  en- 
tire character  of  his  face  resemble  that  of  the  Jews, 
and  especially  the  lineaments  of  our  Saviour,  as  ex- 
hibited by  painters,  who  have  probably  followed  the 
national  cast  of  countenance." 

By  the  exertions  of  the  Moheagan  Association,  al- 
ready mentioned,  a  small  church,  capable  of  accom- 
modating two  or  three  hundred  persons,  was  erected 
on  the  summit  of  Fort  Hill,  not  far  from  the  spot 
where  the  royal  fortress  of  the  tribe  swayed  the  sur- 
rounding country.  The  aspect  of  nature  is  much 
softened  since  the  eyes  of  savage  chieftains  from  this 
lookout-post  roamed  over  a  gloomy  waste  of  woods, 
till  they  rested  upon  the  broad  bay  at  the  river's 
mouth  or  follow  3d  the  blue  line  that  marks  the  more 
distant  Sound      Here,  where  barbarous  vociferatior 


MOHEAGAN  MISSIONS.  S9 

and  noisy  revels,  and  doubtless  rites  and  ceremonies 
devoted  to  malignant  spirits,  marked  the  festal  days 
of  the  savage,  peaceful  feet  wind  up  the  hill,  and  the 
voice  of  prayer  and  praise  proclaims  the  Christian 
Sabbath.  The  cost  of  the  church  was  between  seven 
and  eight  hundred  dollars,  which  was  mainly  con- 
tributed by  1  dies  in  Norwich,  New  London,  and 
Hartford.  It  was  dedicated  in  the  summer  of  1831  ; 
the  sermon  for  the  occasion  being  preached  by 
Rev.  Charles  Hyde  of  Norwich,  from  Zechariah 
ii.  5  :  "  For  I,  saith  the  Lord,  will  be  a  wall  of  fire 
round  about,  and  will  be  the  glory  in  the  midst  of 
her." 

Eloquent  appeals  in  behalf  of  the  long-forgotten 
Moheagans,  were  successively  made  by  Miss  Hunt- 
ington to  the  American  Board  of  Commissioners  fo.\ 
Foreign  Missions,  to  the  Domestic  Missionary  So 
ciety  of  Connecticut,  to  the  legislature  of  the  state, 
and  to  the  government  of  the  United  States.  A  dona 
tion  received  from  the  Domestic  Missionary  Society 
was  immediately  appropriated  to  the  support  of  a 
missionary  ;  and  the  Rev.  Mr.  Wheelock  being  en- 
gaged, entered  forthwith  upon  the  field  of  exertion  ; 
his  wife  as  an  assistant  taking  the  young  under  her 
particular  charge.  Nor  in  this  connection  must  we 
omit  to  mention  the  name  of  another  interesting  fe 
male  who  i  1  this  season  of  activity  came  forward  as 
the  friend  of  Moheagan.  Miss  Rebecca  R.  Wil 
liams  of  Lebanon,  (afterwards  Mrs.  Hebard  of  the 


90  MOHEAGAN    MISSIONS. 

Mission  to  Western  Asia,)  succeeded  Misses  Hum 
ington  and  Raymond  in  the  day-school  at  Fort  Hill, 
and  devoted  herself  for  a  season  to  the  instruction  of 
the  tawny  children  of  the  place.  This  initiatory 
mission-work  at  Moheagan,  both  to  Miss  Huntington 
and  Miss  Williams,  was  but  as  a  vestibule  through 
which  they  passed  into  broader  fields,  white  for  har- 
vest, in  the  eastern  world,  and  after  a  short  season 
cf  toil  in  that  vineyard,  into  a  still  loftier  sphere  of 
service  in  the  world  above. 

The  application  to  the  general  government  for  aid 
was  successful.  A  letter  addressed  by  Miss  Hunt- 
ington to  the  Hon.  Lewis  Cass,  then  secretary  of 
war,  obtained  for  her  the  influence  of  that  depart- 
ment;  and  in  1832  a  grant  was  made  from  the  fund 
devoted  to  Indian  improvement  of  five  hundred  dol- 
lars towards  erecting  buildings  on  the  Moheagan  re- 
servation, and  four  hundred  dollars  for  the  support 
of  a  teacher.  The  last-named  sum  has  since  been 
received  annually  from  the  same  fund.  A  small 
school-house,  and  a  neat  and  comfortable  dwelling- 
house  were  soon  afterwards  erected.  Thus  after 
three  years  of  arduous  and  patient  exertion,  Miss 
Huntington  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  her  benev 
olent  plans  crowned  with  success,  a  chapel,  a  par 
sonage,  a  school-house,  and  the  means  of  sustaining 
the  Christian  ministry  were  procured,  and  the  same 
year  precisely  when  Mr.  Wheelock  left  the  Mohea- 
gan*  and  he  was  most  wanted,  Providence  sent  them 


MOHEAGAN  MISSIONS. 


a  religious  guide,  than  whom,  perhaps,  no  mai,  in  the 
country  was  better  suited  for  the  mixed  station  of 
teacher  and  pastor,  for  whites  and  Indians,  in  church, 
farm-house,  and  hovel,  which  as  missionary  at  Mo- 
heagan  he  was  called  upon  to  fill. 

This  was  Mr.*  Anson  Gleason,  a  native  of  Man- 
chester, Connecticut,  who  had  been  for  several  years 
among  the  Choctaws  performing  missionary  service, 
though  not  a  licensed  preacher.  The  Indians  with 
whom  he  resided  having  been  ejected  from  their  ter- 
ritory and  discharged  into  the  far  west,  Mr.  Gleason 
returned  to  his  native  state,  and  seeing  no  higher 
work  before  him,  was  expecting  to  resume  the  tools 
of  his  original  trade,  the  plane  and  the  saw,  when  he 
was  providentially  led  to  spend  a  sabbath  at  Mohea- 
gan.  Almost  immediately  thereupon  he  was  applied 
to  by  Miss  Huntington  and  the  president  of  the  Mo- 
heagan  association  to  become  the  religious  teacher 
of  that  tribe.  After  some  hesitation  he  accepted 
their  proposals,  and  was  soon  settled  with  his  family 
in  the  neat  parsonage  prepared  for  their  reception,  on 
the  declivity  of  Fort  Hill,  and  entered  with  constitu- 
tional alacrity  upon  his  labors.  His  wife — another 
blessing  in  the  shape  of  woman  for  Moheagan — took 
charge  of  the  school,  which  has  ever  since  been  un- 
der her  care. 

A  little  church  of  eight  or  ten  members  had  been 
gathered ;  but  Moheagan  had  long  been  a  place  of 
common   resort,  especially  on  the   Sabbath,  to  the 


92  MOHEAGAN    MISSIONS. 

restless  and  idle  in  the  vicinity.  It  was  a  place  aside 
from  the  rigid  supervision  of  religion  and  law  where 
everybody,  natives  and  visiters,  had  been  accustomed 
to  do  as  they  pleased.  Mr.  Gleason  was  obliged  in 
many  cases  (to  use  his  own  expression)  to  preach  a 
conscience  on  to  them ;  and  like  a  shepherd  seeking 
his  lost  sheep,  had  to  travel  much  among  the  lots  and 
by-paths,  hills,  lanes,  and  pastures,  to  look  up  his 
flock.  But  he  knew  that  as  they  were,  the  poor  na- 
tives were  all  lost,  and  if  but  a  few  were  saved  this 
disciple  of  Christ  felt  that  it  was  entire  ga.li. 

After  two  years  of  preaching,  Mr.  Gleason  finding 
that  his  little  church  suffered  much  from  a  want  of 
the  stated  ordinances  of  the  Gospel,  made  an  appeal 
to  the  clergymen  of  the  neighborhood  either  to  license 
or  silence  him.  This  application  was  responded  to 
with  hearty  good- will,  and,  April  1,  1835,  he  was 
regularly  ordained  pastor  of  the  church.  Since  that 
period  the  number  of  church  members  has  amounted 
to  sixty,  of  whom  less  than  one-third  are  Indians,  the 
major  part  are  from  the  families  of  tenants  living 
upon  the  reservation.  Of  the  white  members,  Miss 
Dolbeare,  the  first  person  baptized  and  admitted  by 
Mr.  Gleason,  has  gone  forth  on  a  mission  to  the 
Choctaws  of  the  Arkansaw.  Mr.  Maynard,  another 
scion  of  this  church,  is  settled  as  a  pastor  in  Corn- 
wall, Connecticut. 

During  the  year  1844,  this  little  mission  church 
contributed  the  following  sums  for  benevolent  pur- 


MOHEAGAN  MISSIONS  93 

poses,  viz. :  ten  dollars  for  sabbath-schools,  six  dol- 
lars for  tracts,  ten  dollars  towards  the  publication  of 
the  Choctaw  hymn-book,  and  forty  or  fifty  dollars  for 
foreign  missions,  besides  an  appropriation  of  fifty 
dollars  to  improve  the  singing  of  the  congregation.* 

The  Indians  are  advancing  in  civilization,  and  in 
respect  to  numbers  also  are  on  the  increase.  It  was 
hoped  that  a  Christian  influence  exerted  over  them 
would  result  in  their  enlargement,  and  the  result  has 
been  such  as  to  verify,  in  some  degree,  a  remark  of 
Miss  Huntington — "  It  is  the  usual  effect  of  moral 
elevation  to  make  a  little  one  become  a  thousand." 
The  actual  number  on  the  reservation,  however,  has 
not  much  increased,  many  of  them  obtain  situations 
in  the  neighboring  towns,  and  a  large  proportion  of 
the  males  follow  the  dangerous  sea  for  a  livelihood, 
and  are  consequently  often  decimated  by  storms  and 
casualties.  They  make  excellent  whalemen,  being 
as  skilful  in  the  use  of  the  harpoon  as  their  fathers 
were  with  the  arrow  and  sling.  Two  or  three  of 
them  have  served  as  mates  of  vessels,  and  one  in 
particular  is  now  absent  on  an  India  voyage  in  that 
capacity.  He  has  built  a  neat  house  for  his  mother, 
and  embellished  the  homestead  with  trees  and  a  sub- 
stantial stone  wall,  from  the  profits  of  his  voyages. 

And  here,  perhaps,  we  may  be  allowed  to  descend 
from  the  dignity  of  history  to  relate  a  few  familial 

*  Information  obtained  from  Rev.  Anson  Gleason.  Most  of  the 
subsequent  details  are  derived  from  him. 


94  MOHEAGAN    MISSIONS. 

anecdotes.  A  little  of  the  sailor  and  the  Indian 
mingled  with  the  Christian,  sometimes  produces  an 
originality  of  expression  which  has  a  vivid  effect. 
"  Brethren,"  said  one  of  them,  in  an  exhortation  at  a 
private  meeting,  "  let  us  make  all  sail  for  the  city  that 
aint  in  sight !" 

Among  the  native  members  are  three,  whom  their 
pastor  designates  as  precious  old  women,  viz. :  Cyn- 
thia, Martha,  and  Parthenia,  descended  from  the 
Tantaquidjin,  Wyax,  and  Hoskott  families  of  Mo- 
heagan.  They  are  always  ready  to  revive  his  heart 
under  discouragement,  and  to  stay  up  his  arms  when 
they  are  ready  to  drop,  being  of  that  excellent  gen- 
eration who  "  hope  on,  hope  ever,"  One  of  these 
aged  females  in  a  prayer-meeting  with  a  few  of  her 
own  people,  being  Sw  much  affected  as  to  be  unable 
to  proceed,  lifted  her  hands  and  streaming  eyes  up- 
ward, and  exclaimed,  "  Lord  !  I  cannot  tell  it,  but  I 
can  cry  it,"  and  said  no  more. 

Cynthia  is  the  daughter  of  Lucy  Tantaquidjin,  that 
las'  -?,irvivor  of  the  Aukum  age.  She  had  much  to 
strUg^'1  with  in  the  season  of  her  conversion,  having 
previously  been  very  intemperate,  and  finding  it  diffi- 
cult to  tree  herself  from  that  raging  thirst  to  which 
she  had  so  long  been  a  bond-slave.  Often  her  agita- 
tion was  so  great  as  to  shake  the  floor  beneath  her. 
She  had  at  the  time  a  small  quantity  of  ardent  spirits 
in  the  house,  and  after  beginning  to  hope  that  she  had 
another  heart  and  mind  than  before,  it  being  neces 


MOHEAGAN   MISSIONS.  95 

sary  for  her  to  go  to  the  closet  that  contained  the 
tempting  poison,  so  great  was  her  fear  lest  the  sight 
should  overcome  her  resolution,  that  she  opened  the 
door  (as  she  said  afterwards)  with  as  much  trembling 
and  apprehension  as  if  a  wild  beast  had  been  caged 
within,  and  ready  to  leap  out  and  devour  her.     She 
successfully  resisted   the  temptation,  and   has  ever 
since  remained  rigidly  temperate.     One  member  of 
the  church,  however,  has  been  excommunicated  for 
intemperance,  and  another  is  now  under  suspension 
for  the  same  cause  ;  yet  many  interesting  instances 
might  be  given  of  strict  adherence  to  the  temperance 
pledge.     One  young  Indian  having  been  accidentally 
wounded,  it  was  proposed  to  dip  the  bandage  with 
which  they  were  about  to  bind  up  the  wound,  in  al- 
cohol ;  but  he  forbade  the  use  of  it,  exclaiming  with 
animation,  "  No  rum  shall  touch  my  flesh  !" 

Perhaps  nothing  has  taken  place  under  his  minis- 
try that  has  tended  more  to  cheer  the  heart  of  their 
pastor,  than  the  case  of  Charles  Wyax.  This  was 
an  interesting  youth  nineteen  years  of  age,  with  an 
open  countenance,  a  sparkling  eye,  and  a  complexion 
tawny  red,  bespeaking  the  pure  Indian  blood.  He 
had  attended  the  school  of  Miss  Huntington,  and  be- 
ing  the  oldest  of  her  male  pupils,  she  had  devoted 
herself  with  great  assiduity  to  his  instruction,  and 
offered  many  prayers  for  his  conversion.  He  was 
eager  to  learn,  but  personally  indifferent  to  the  truth. 
His  heart  was  not  right;  and  Miss  H.,  who  even 


96  BLOHEAGAN    MISSIONS. 

from  the  far  eastern  world  sent  back  her  earnest  re- 
gards for  his  welfare,  died  before  any  fruits  of  piety 
appeared  to  reward  her  efforts.  Yet  the  seed  sown 
was  not  lost.  After  Mr.  Gleason's  settlement  at  Mo- 
heagan,  he  became  serious,  steady,  pious,  and  being 
called  away  from  earth  at  an  early  age,  his  last  days 
were  peaceful  and  cheered  with  immortal  hopes. 
On  his  death-bed  he  breathed  blessings  upon  the 
name  and  memory  of  his  amiable  benefactress. 

Such  is  a  brief  history  of  missionary  enterprise  in 
Moheagan.  The  inquiry  is  often  made,  Do  the  na- 
tives appreciate  the  benefits  bestowed  upon  them  ? 
Are  they  grateful  for  instruction  ?  Miss  Hunting- 
ton, in  replying  to  similar  interrogatories,  has  given 
the  subject  its  right  bearing  : — "  The  obligation  is  on 
our  side  :  we  are  but  discharging  in  some  inadequate 
measure  our  debt  of  gratitude  to  them."  The  peo- 
ple of  Connecticut  are  in  truth  debtors  to  the  Mohea- 
gans,  not  only  in  the  sense  of  Paul — "  I  am  debtor 
Doth  to  Greeks  and  barbarians,"— but  in  respect  to 
the  interchange  of  good  offices  between  man  and 
man.  They  assisted  them  in  their  early  struggle  for 
existence.  The  infant  settlements  in  their  vicinity 
were  saved  from  the  savage  tomahawk  by  their 
faithful  guardianship.  They  supplied  the  wants  of 
our  ancestors,  fed  them,  guided  them  often  through 
the  wilderness,  fought  by  their  side,  and  bled  in  their 
defence.  Against  the  Pequots,  the  Narragansetts, 
the  Nipnets,  the  Wampanoags,  and  the  French,  they 


MOHEAGAN  MISSIONS.  97 

sallied  forth  to  fight  our  battles.  In  the  revolutiona- 
ry war  they  again  enlisted  in  our  armies.  Rugged, 
hardy,  and  wild  as  their  own  granite  hills  and  im- 
petuous streams,  yet  stanch  and  faithful  in  their 
friendship,  thev  stood  around  our  threatened  homes, 
a  barrier  to  repel  attack,  or  a  torrent  to  overwhelm 
opposition, — and  while  they  remained  an  indepen- 
dent tribe,  no  Moheagan  ever  bathed  his  weapon  in 
the  blood  of  a  white  man. 
New  London,  August,  18 — 


Miss  Huntington,  so  often  alluded  to  in  the  pre 
ceding  pages,  was  married  to  the  Rev.  Eli  Smith, 
missionary  to  Western  Asia,  July  21,  1833,  and  em 
barked  with  her  husband  for  Palestine  the  Septem 
ber  following.     In  person,  as  well  as  in  mind  and 
character,  she  was  uncommonly  interesting.     Very 
few  faces  were  so  full  of  what  is  called  expression. 
A.  stream  of  mingled  sweetness  and  brightness  seem- 
ed to  issue  from  her  eyes,  and  bathe  her  countenance 
in  its  glow.     The  large  dark  eye,  the  fair,  polished 
brow,  the  healthy  hue  of  cheek  and  lip,  the  firm, 
erect  gait,  all  were  hers — and  in  combination  formed 
a  person  of  surpassing  beauty,  and  great  nobility  of 
deportment.     Every  individual  grace  about  her  bore 
a  certain  stamp  of  character  and  independence,  yet 


08  MOHEAGAN    MISSIONS. 

each  was  softened  by  a  gentle  manner  and  winning 
kindness   of  speech      She  was  naturally   sensitive 
and  ardent  in  feeling,  and  when  quite  young  otten 
impetuous  and  passionate,  but  in  after  life  every  im 
pulsive    passion   was    subdued    and    chastened    into 
beautiful   accordance   with  her  views   of  Christian 
duty  and  womanly  propriety.     Still  there  was  ever  a 
certain  loftiness  of  feeling  and  action  natural  to  her 
mind,  that  remained  visible  in  her  air  and  demeanor. 
She  left  behind  her,  in  her  native  town,  a  name 
more  fragrant  than  precious  ointment.    To  the  young, 
especially,  she  had  endeared  herself  by  earnest  de- 
votion to  their  improvement.     The  circling  heights 
which  overlooked  the  church  in  which  she  worship- 
ped, and  on  which  the   Sabbath  pupils  and  Bible 
classes  in  which  she  took  such  deep  interest  were 
accustomed  to  meet,  were  nature's  witnesses  of  an 
affectionate  bond  between  them  and  her.     Sweetly 
upon  those  hills  resounded  the  strains  which  so  often 
testified   a   grateful   remembrance    of   their   absent 
friend  : — 

O'er  the  rolling  world  of  waters, 

Far  away  is  one  we  love  : 
She  to  sad  Judea's  daughters 

Bears  a  message  from  above. 
When  she  saw  the  Saviour  grieving 

O'er  the  nations  dark  and  dead, 
She,  her  home  and  country  leaving, 

Follow'd  where  his  banner  led. 


MOHEAGAN  MISSIONS.  99 

There  to  children  lone  and  dreary 

She  will  teach  the  Saviour's  name ; 
To  his  cross  allure  the  weary  ; 

To  the  poor  the  truth  proclaim. 
O  may  angels  round  her  hover, 

Shield  her  from  the  Moslem's  rage — 
In  disease  and  danger,  cover — 

All  her  woes  and  pain  assuage. 

Happy  friend !  we  too  will  labor, 

Ills  to  cure,  and  souls  to  save  ; 
Never  more  our  Gentile  neighbor 

Vainly  shall  the  Gospel  crave. 
At  thy  throne  in  warm  devotion, 

Here,  O  Prince  of  Life  !  we  fall ; — 
East  or  west,  o'er  land  or  ocean, 

We  will  follow,  shouldst  thou  call. 

Soon,  alas  !  were  these  affectionate  strains  chang- 
ed for  a  note  of  deeper  lamentation.  Mrs.  Smith 
cued  at  B«ojah,  a  small  village  tour  or  five  miles 
from  Smyrna,  September  30,  1836. 


flita- 


BY  THE  REV.  RALPH  HOYT. 


Was  heard,  'tis  said,  one  tranquil  evef 
A  low  sad  voice  along  the  sky, —  - 

Can  heavenly  natures  ever  grieve  ? 
Can  holy  angels  weep  on  high  ? 
Sigh,— sigh  ! 

There  spread  a  cloud  of  golden  hue 
And  curtain'd  day's  declining  light, 

Down  floating  from  the  distant  blue 

It  came  with  gentle  silent  flight, 

Bright, — bright ! 

A  form  upon  celestial  wings  ! — 

Wherever  press'd  her  glittering  feet, 

Came  gushing  forth  from  hidden  stringg 
Soft  music,  earth  can  ne'er  repeat, 
Sweet, —  sweet  ! 


PITY  101 

She  paused,  and  on  a  sunbeam  stood. 

Above  a  gently  sloping  hill, 
Mute  wonder  fell  on  field  and  wood, 

Meandering  stream,  and  mountain  rill- 
Still,— still 

But  that  sad  voice  along  the  sky 

Yet  mingled  with  the  passing  gale  ; — 

Ah,  do  the  loved  in  heaven  die  ? 
Can  sorrow  seraph  hearts  assail  ? 
Wail, — wail ! 

She  gazed  o'er  all  the  haunts  of  men, 
And  saw  how  sorrow's  fountains  flow  ; 

Gay  city,  or  secluded  glen 

No  refuge  from  the  certain  blow, 
Wo, — wo  ! 

Amid  the  gay  voluptuous  throng, 
Mourn'd  many  bosoms  sad  and  lone, 

Crush'd  in  the  grasp  of  want  and  wrong, — ■ 
The  world's  cold  heart  relentless  grown, 
Stone, — stone  ! 

The  captive  pining  in  his  chain, 

The  famish'd,  vainly  asking  bread  ; 
Sad  partings,  ne'er  to  meet  again  ; 
•     Love  s  rose,  that  once  sweet  odors  shed, 
Dead, — dead  I 


02 


She  saw,  where,  at  the  pallet  side, 

While  orphan  babes  unconscious  slept, 

A  scanty  morsel  to  provide, 
The  widow  toilsome  vigil  kept, 
Wept, — wept ! 

The  weary  stranger  sought  for  rest ; 

(Ah,  who  the  goal  hath  ever  won  ?) 
No  door  swung  open  for  a  guest, 

None  wish'd  the  pilgrim's  journey  done. 
None, — none. 

From  rugged  Labor's  earnest  hand 
Uprose  the  palace — teem'd  the  soil, 

And  navies  swarm'd  at  his  command, 
For  lordly  avarice  a  spoil, — 
Toil,— toil  ! 

All  mournful  sat  the  maniac  maid, 
No  lover's  voice  in  music  spoke  ; 

Confiding  innocence, — betray'd  ! 

Poor  heart, — what  anguish  when  it  woke  ! 
Broke, — broke  f 

Where  lay  a  child  in  death's  cold  sleep, 
A  mother  sobb'd  in  wild  despair  ; 

Alas  !  the  slumber  was  too  deep, 
The  wakeful  spirit  was  not  there  ! 
Where, — where ! 


PITY.  lOtl 

With  feeble  step  deserted  Age 

Went  groping  in  a  sightless  gloom, 

This  all  his  prayer  on  life's  last  page, 
Take  me,  ye  dwellers  of  the  tomb  ! 
Room, — room  ! 

Thus,  gazing  o'er  the  haunts  of  men, 
She  saw  how  sorrow's  fountains  flow  ; 

Gay  city,  or  secluded  glen, 
Still  all  resistless  fell  the  blow, 
Wo, — wo  ! 

For  this  upon  that  tranquil  eve 

Came  that  sad  voice  along  the  sky ; 

For  this  that  heavenly  one  could  grieve, 
That  angel,  from  the  realms  on  high, 
Sigh,— sigh. 

Her  tears  upon  the  sunbeam  spread 

A  bow  of  hope  for  every  breast, 
A  solace  for  each  heart  that  bled  ; — 

Earth's  mourners  saw,  and  sank  to  rest, 

Blest, — blest  ! 

And  still  when  sorrow  presses  sore 

They  see  that  radiant  one  above, 
The  cloud  of  anguish  passes  o'er, 

Descends  again  the  heavenly  dove, 
Love, — love  ! 


104  PITY. 

Immortal  Pity  !  Power  Divine  ; — 
Down-trodden  ! — lo,  a  sure  release  ! 

Desponding  hearts,  no  more  repine, 

Oppression,  grief,  and  want  shall  cease, — 
Peace, — peace. 


Sonnet. 


BY    H.    T.    TUCKERMAN. 


Who  twined  these  flowers  to  grace  my  natal  day  ? 

Emblems  of  hope  and  love  that  life  redeem, 
Whose  fragrance  charms  desponding  thoughts  away 

And  newly  kindles  youth's  immortal  dream ; 
The  rose-geranium — token  blest  of  choice, 

Verbena,  in  whose  odor  feeling  lies, 
Sweet  mignionette — true  merit's  floral  voice, 

And  heliotrope  that  souls  devoted  prize? 
Who  bat  the  gentle  one  that  trial  keeps 

Free  from  the  selfish  tyranny  of  earth, 
Whose  heart  in  music's  holy  temple  sleeps 

Where  kindly  impulse  hath  its  constant  birth : 
O  not  with  barren  thanks  will  I  profane 
The  cheerful  faith  thy  gift  hath  woke  again  . 


@  d  ra  <s 


Sttrtnal). 


BY  THE  REV.  EUGENIO  KINCAID. 


The  sun  had  not  yet  risen  on  the  morning  of  the 
27th  of  January,  1837,  when  I  left  Ava  for  a  tour 
through  the  northern    provinces    of    Burmah.     M} 
boat  was  long  and  narrow,  managed  by  three  grave, 
bearded  Mussulmen,  and  two  active  Burmans.     A 
circular  roof,  neatly  constructed  of  palm-leaf,  extend- 
ed   over   about    eight  feet    of  the    stern,  to    shelter 
me  from  the  rays  of  a  tropical  sun  by  day,  and  the 
cold,  dripping  dews  by  night.     Three  miles  brought 
us  to  Shmoy-ket-yet,  a  bold  rocky  promontory  ex- 
tending a  quarter  of  a  mile  into  the  river  and  crowned 
with  temples    and  pagodas,  many  of  them  covered 
with  gold-leaf.     We  reached  the  summit  by  a  flight 
of  stairs  cut  in  the  solid  rock.     From  this  point,  one 
hus  a  fine  view  of  three  cities.     Three  miles  to  the 
south,  on  the  eastern  bank  of  the  Irrawadi,  is  Ava ; 
on  the  opposite  side  is  Sagoin,  and  two  miles  to  the 
east  is  Umerapora,  all  royal  cities,  and  surrounded 
by  massive  brick  walls.     Suburban  villages  extend  for 


106  BURMAII. 

miles  in  some  directions,  and  on  every  side  as  far  aa 
I  he  eye  can  reach  are  gardens  for  fruit,  flowers,  and 
vegetables.  Groves  of  palm,  tamarind,  mango,  or- 
ange, lemon,  and  banana  trees,  are  sprinkled  thickly 
within  and  without  the  walls,  furnishing  much  deli- 
cious fruit,  and  a  most  grateful  shade  in  these  warm 
latitudes.  This  is  the  most  delightful  season  of  the 
year  the  thermometer  rarely  rising  above  85°  in  the 
shade,  and  then,  at  this  early  hour  in  the  morning,  the 
sun  is  just  rising  and  bathing  thousands  of  spires  and 
minarets  that  glitter  with  gold.  Standing  upon  the 
lofty  battlements  of  one  of  these  temples,  the  eye 
takes  in  many  miles  of  this  beautiful  valley.  To 
the  east  and  west  are  seen  the  dim  outlines  of  moun- 
tains, and  at  your  feet  rolls  the  broad  Irrawadi,  bath- 
ing the  walls  of  three  proud  cities.  Amidst  the  num- 
berless monuments  of  wealth,  industry,  and  supersti- 
tion, there  is  one  object  above  all  others  that  will  en 
chain  the  attention  of  a  foreigner.  It  is  the  palace 
of  Ava,  covering  some  twelve  or  fourteen  acres  of 
ground,  with  numerous  graduated  roofs,  and  each 
roof  surmounted  with  many  gilded  spires — verandas 
of  vast  length  and  width,  sustained  by  lofty  columns 
elaborately  carved — and  all  having  the  appearance  of 
burnished  gold  ;  it  will  not  fail  to  be  an  object  of  great 
interest.  Over  the  eastern  angle  of  the  palace,  and 
immediately  above  the  throne,  rises  the  tallest  and 
most  elegantly  constructed  spire  in  the  empire,  and 
perhaps  one  of  the  finest  in  the  world.     Ava  has  been 


BURMA1I.  107 

the  residence  of  Burman  monarchs,  with  but  little 
interruption,  for  the  last  five  hundred  years. 

Two  miles  further  brought  us  under  the  walls  of 
Umerapora,  in  population  and  in  the  splendor  of  its 
temples  and  pagodas,  but  little  inferior  to  Ava.  It 
was  built  by  the  great  Alompra,  the  founder  of  the 
present  dynasty,  about  the  middle  of  the  last  century. 
Six  miles  above  Umerapora  is  the  Chinese  mart.  A 
caravan  of  some  fifteen  hundred  had  just  arrived  from 
the  province  of  Unan.  I  soon  found  several  who 
spoke  the  Burman  language,  and  when  I  brought 
forward  a  small  package  of  Chinese  books  there  was 
a  great  rush  to  see  and  hear  them.  I  gave  to  a  fine 
looking,  intelligent  Chinese,  the  Gospel  of  John, 
translated  by  Dr.  Marshman,  and  bade  him  read  aloud. 
It  was  interesting  to  watch  the  countenances  of  these 
men,  listening  for  the  first  time  to  the  Messiah's  lan- 
guage. I  gave  them  a  few  copies  to  take  back  to 
China,  and  we  parted  apparently  well-pleased  with  the 
interview.  It  was  near  evening  when  we  came  before 
Mengoon,  the  largest  pagoda  in  the  empire.  The 
grandfather  of  the  present  reigning  monarch  of  Burmah, 
reared  this  vast  pile.  It  is  still  unfinished,  having  been 
suddenly  abandoned  in  consequence  of  the  king's  as- 
trologers predicting  that,  when  it  should  be  completed, 
the  dynasty  of  Alompra  would  cease  to  reign.  I, 
was  thought  by  many  shrewd  Burmans,  that  the  as 
trologers  had  a  hint  that  the  king  would  be  pleased 
to  have  some  plausible  excuse  for  abandoning  a  work 


l08  BURMA.H. 

that  was  exhausting  the  resources  of  the  empire.  _& 
the  centre  of  this  enormous  structure,  in  a  room 
twenty  cubits  square,  are  placed  images  of  each 
member  of  the  royal  family,  made  of  pure  gold,  and 
the  amount  of  gold  in  each  image  is  equal  in  weight  to 
the  individual  for  whom  it  was  made  :  and  also  images 
of  each  nobleman  in  the  empire,  made  of  pure  white 
silver,  and  the  silver  weighed  against  each  man.  For 
ages,  the  Burmans  have  been  accustomed  to  deposite 
gold  and  silver,  wrought  into  images,  under  the  base 
of  pagodas.  This  custom,  I  believe,  is  peculiar  to 
Boodhists.  Every  thing  about  this  pagoda  is  on  a 
scale  of  vastness  almost  overpowering.  The  two 
lions  that  guard  the  massive  stairs  leading  from  the 
river  up  to  the  sacred  enclosure,  are  ninety  feet  high. 
They  are  in  a  couchant  posture,  looking  out  fiercely 
upon  the  waters.  Nothing,  perhaps,  can  exceed  the 
quiet  beauty  of  the  surrounding  scenery.  The  land  is 
gently  rising  and  undulating  until  it  terminates  in  a 
range  of  hills  three  hundred  feet  high  ;  the  villages  are 
almost  touching  each  other,  and  embowered  amidst 
groves  of  palm  and  tamarind,  their  dark  foliage  forming 
a  most  grateful  shade.  The  river  is  more  than  a  mile 
broad,  and  on  the  opposite  side  the  rich  alluvial  plain 
is  of  vast  extent,  dotted  in  every  direction  with  ham 
*ets.  In  fourteen  days  I  reached  Bo-mau,  a  city 
forty  miles  from  China,  and  the  capital  of  a  rich  and 
fertile  province.  To  the  east,  twenty-five  or  thirty 
miles,  is  a  lofty  range  of  mountains,  furmsmng  a  boun° 


BURMAH.  10S 

dary  between  Burmah  and  China.     This  is  a  vale  oi 
great  extent,  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  mountains, 
and  presenting  the  appearance  of  having  formerly  been 
a  lake.     Some  twenty  miles  below,  the  Irrawadi,  com- 
pressed into  one-third  of  its  usual  width,  rolls  through 
a  channel  cut  in  the  solid  rock  for  eight  or  nine  miles 
Evidently  worn  away  by  the  action  of  the  water,  ir 
some  places  the  rocky  barrier  rises  six  hundred  feet, 
and  in  one  place  to  nearly  nine  hundred,  presenting 
a  smooth  and  almost  perpendicular  wall  on  each  side. 
The  plashing  of  the  oars  and  the  songs  of  the  boat- 
men echoed  long  and  loud,  as  if  we  had  been  passing 
through   vaulted   caverns.     In   eight   days   more   I 
reached  Mo-goung,  a  fortified  town  on  the  north- 
western frontier  of  Burmah,  and  near  the  Yoma,  a 
range  of  the  Himmalaya  mountains.     This  city  is  on 
the  confines  of  a  vast  wilderness,  which  separates 
Burmah  from  India  ;  and  by  the  river  is  nine  hundred 
miles  from  the  sea.     In  this  tour,  I  visited  nearly  three 
hundred  towns  and  villages,  distributed  some  Testa- 
ments and  tracts,  and  preached  in  many  places.     I 
was  kindly  received  by  the  governors  of  cities,  and 
by  the  people  generally  ;  and  formed  acquaintance  in 
several  Shan  towns  and  with  the  Ka-cheens,  a  people 
who  inhabit  all  the  hill-country  between  Ava  and 
China,  evidently  a  branch  of  the  great  Karen  family. 
During  my  stay  in  the  city  already  named,  I  received 
many  substantial  tokens  of  kindness  from  the  governor 
ind  his  lady,  and  was  invited  to  explain  the  doctrines  of 


1  10  BURMAH. 

Christianity  in  the  governor's  house.  His  lady  ex- 
pressed  much  pleasure  on  receiving  a  neatly-bound 
copy  of  the  New  Testament,  and  when  I  was  about 
leaving,  she  came  to  my  boat  in  company  with  a 
younger  sister  and  a  long  train  of  attendants,  bring- 
ing me  fruit,  eggs,  rice,  and  various  other  articles  for 
my  journey.  These  ladies  apologized  in  the  most 
kind  and  dignified  manner  for  the  governor  not  com- 
ing to  take  leave  of  me,  and  said  that  urgent  business 
detained  him  in  the  court-room.  I  commended  them 
to  God  and  that  blessed  book  they  held  in  their 
hands,  explaining  for  an  hour  or  more  the  great  doc- 
trines of  Christianity.  My  object  in  this  tour  was  to 
ascertain  the  number  of  towns  and  villages,  the  dif- 
ferent races  oi  people,  their  manners  and  customs,  the 
climate,  and  the  probable  prospect  of  being  able  to 
introduce  among  them  the  knowledge  of  God ;  as  also, 
to  learn  the  facilities  for  opening  an  intercourse  with 
China,  and  to  ascertain,  if  possible,  whether  the  Ka- 
cheens  were  a  people  different  from  or  similar  to  the 
Karens  in  the  southern  provinces  of  Burmah.  Having 
accomplished  all  that  I  had  in  view,  or  all  that  could  be 
done  with  the  means  at  my  command,  I  turned  back 
towards  Ava.  We  were  now  four  hundred  miles 
north  of  Ava,  and  one  thousand  north  of  Maulmein, 
My  boat  glided  rapidly  down  the  river,  and  we  had 
the  prospect  of  finishing  the  whole  journey  without 
encountering  any  serious  difficulty.  True,  while  in 
\he  Mo-goung  province,  we  had  been   obliged  to 


BURMAH.  HI 


spend  three  nights  in  a  wild,  mountainous  region,  in- 
habited by  tribes  reputed  fierce  and  savage,  but  in 
the  night  we  kindled  no  fires  and  passed  through  un 
molested.     About  one  hundred  and  thirty  miles  be- 
low Mo-goung,  we  spent  a  day  at  Kuen-dau,  a  beau- 
tiful island  two  miles  long  and  nearly  one  mile  broad. 
From  time  immemorial  an  annual  festival  has  been 
held  on  this   island,  continuing  from  ten  to  twelve 
days.     It  is  among  the  most  celebrated  in  the  em- 
pire, and,  like  all  Boodhist  festivals,  is  partly  for  pur- 
poses of  devotion  and  partly  for  traffic.     The  central 
part  of  the  island  is  thickly  studded  with  pagodas,  few 
of  them  more  than  sixty  feet  high,  but  all  surmounted 
with  bells,  varying  in  number  from  twenty  to  sixty 
on  each  pagoda,  and   so  constructed  that  when  the 
wind  blows  all  are  set  ringing.     These  pagodas  are 
covered  with  gold-leaf  from  the  base  to  the  top.     In- 
credible numbers  of  idols,  formed  mostly  of  marble, 
copper,  lead,  and  wood,  are  deposited  in  brick  build- 
ings.    The  governor  of  the  province,  with  his  police, 
was  present,  to   maintain   order  and   to  collect   the 
king's  revenue.     The  tents  were  spread  out  on  every 
side  to  the  water's  edge,  leaving  narrow  streets  cross- 
ing each  other  at  right  angles,  and  still  thousands 
were  living  in  their  boats.     The  goods  of  all  nations 
were  spread   out  in  one  continuous  bazar,  from  the 
rich  silks,  and  velvets,  and  crapes  of  China,  to  the 
plain  muslins  and  glass  ware  of  America.     Here  are 

shawls  from  Scotland  and  Cashmere ;  broadcloths  and 
6 


112  BUR  MA  H. 

cutlery  from  England ;  fancy  bottles  from  France 
idols,  gold-leaf,  and  jewellery  from  Ava  and  Hindostan 
spices  from  Sumatra  and  Ceylon ;  lackered  boxes  ano 
pickled  tea  from  the  Shan  principalities ;  furs  and  musk 
from  Thibet,  and  the  list  might  be  lengthened  in  almost 
endless  variety.  The  governor  invited  me  to  tea,  and 
*gain  to  breakfast.  He  was  extremely  affable  and  obii 
^ing,  and  urged  me  to  spend  a  week  with  him,  and  to 
risit  two  or  three  towns  in  the  adjacent  country.  His 
Fife  was  a  lady  of  fine  understanding,  and  polished 
vxnners,  though  a  little  vain,  as  she  took  much  pains 
>?  tell  me  her  father  was  a  distinguished  general  in  the 
riuTnan  army,  and  shared  largely  in  the  confidence 
of  his  majesty.  At  breakfast,  a  table  of  solid  silver 
was  placed  before  me  and  loaded  with  luxuries  ;  and 
when  I  went  to  my  boat  I  found  my  kind  hostess  had 
sent  a  variety  of  provisions  thither  for  my  journey. 

The  governor  told  me  of  the  rains  of  ancient  cities 
some  forty  miles  below  as  objects  of  great  curiosity. 
On  our  way  down,  we  spent  a  few  hours  in  examin- 
ing these  remains  of  antiquity.  Some  miserable  vil- 
lages are  in  the  neighborhood,  but  I  could  find  no 
man  who  was  willing  to  act  as  a  guide.  Taking  my 
four  Burman  boys,  (young  men  between  sixteen  and 
twenty  years  of  age,)  and  three  of  my  boatmen,  I 
plunged  into  the  dark,  tangled  forest.  Soon  we  came 
upon  a  wall  above  twenty  feet  high  and  twelve  zeet 
^ror.d,  and  traced  this  in  nearly  a  straight  line  for  a 
quarter  of  a  mile.     The  moat  must  have  been  of 


BURMAH.  113 

great  breadth  and  depth,  for  after  so  mail)  centuries 
we  found  it  clearly  denned  and  in  some  places  eight 
feet  deep.  Trees  of  enormous  size  were  growing 
in  it.  Climbing  over  a  low  place  in  the  wall,  we 
made  our  way  across  heaps  of  ruins,  cautiously,  for 
fear  of  cobras  and  tigers.  At  length  we  came  to 
what  appeared  to  be  the  base  of  an  abrupt  hill,  cov- 
ered, as  every  other  part  was,  with  a  dense  jungle, 
excluding  the  rays  of  the  sun  and  almost  shutting  out 
the  light  of  day.  We  climbed  up,  till  at  length  we 
emerged  into  open  day.  Cutting  away  some  of  the 
tall,  slender  bamboos,  which  grew  on  .the  very  sum- 
mit, we  had  a  fine  view.  To  the  east  and  south  of 
us,  the  ruins  extended  to  a  great  distance.  We  stood 
on  the  top  of  an  ancient  pagoda,  of  vast  size,  that 
has  for  ages  been  melting  down.  Digging  into  the 
top,  we  came  upon  images  of  Boodh.  Some  of 
them  had  inscriptions  on  them  in  the  ancient  Sans- 
crit or  Pali  language.  In  Burman  history,  written 
nearly  eight  hundred  years  ago,  these  ruins  are 
mentioned,  but  no  reference  is  made  to  their  origin. 

Several  boats  laden  with  pilgrims  halted  for  the  night 
at  a  small  village  where  we  had  taken  up  our  lodgings ; 
they  were  on  their  way  to  Rangoon,  distant  more  than 
one  thousand  miles  from  their  home.  The  larger  num- 
ber were  aged  people.  It  was  truly  affecting  to  lis- 
ten to  the  reasons  they  gave  for  undertaking  such  a 
long  and  perilous  journey  :  to  obtain  such  an  amount 
of  merit  as  would  furnish  them  with  a  passport  to  a 


[14  BURMAH. 

better  world,  appeared  to  be  the  object  of  the  most 
thoughtful  and  intelligent.    Sitting  as  they  were  around 
a  fire  kindled  on  the  shore,  I  conversed  with  them  till 
midnight.     Among  the  most  interesting  in  the  group 
was  an  elderly  woman,  gentle  and  dignified  in  her 
manners,  with  an  open,  placid  expression  of  coun- 
tenance.    As  the  discourse  went  on,  her  attention 
became  fixed,  and  her  large  intelligent  eyes  kindled 
up  with  extraordinary  animation  when  the  attributes 
of  the  Deity  were  explained,  and  then  the  relations 
we  sustain  to  Him,  and  the  provision  He  has  made 
for  our  happiness.     The  doctrines  evidently  made  a 
pleasant  impression  on  her  mind,  and  with  God's  bless- 
ing they  may  prove  a  savor  of  life  to  many  in  that 
interesting  group. 

When  but  little  more  than  two  hundred  miles  above 
Ava,  passing  through  a  mountainous  region,  some 
thing  like  the  Highlands  of  the  Hudson,  a  long,  nar- 
row boat,  with  twelve  armed  men,  came  towards  us, 
uttering  the  most  savage  yells  and  ordering  us  to 
stop.  "  Robbers  are  coming — robbers  are  coming," 
was  said  in  a  suppressed  but  earnest  tone  by  every 
man  and  boy.  We  had  a  musket  and  a  pair  of  pis- 
tols as  some  security  against  pirates.  I  told  one  of 
the  men  to  hold  up  the  musket  that  they  might  see  we 
were  prepared  for  robbers.  Observing  this,  they  rowed 
towards  the  shore,  but  soon  returned  with  another  boat 
and  twelve  men,  making  now  a  company  of  twenty-four, 
vmcd  with  muskets,  spears,  and  swords     I  had  spent 


BURMAH.  115 

all  the  morning  in  writing,  and  as  yet  remained  sitting 
under  my  palm-leaf  re  of,  so  that  the  robbers  had  not 
seen  me.  My  men  cried  oat,  "  Teacher,  come  quickly, 
the  robbers  are  on  us — what  shall  we  do  V  I  rushed 
out  and  ordered  them  to  be  off,  at  the  same  time 
holding  up  the  pistols  in  a  threatening  attitude.  In- 
stantly on  seeing  me,  they  rowed  towards  the  shore, 
making  signals  as  they  went :  this  led  us  to  look 
carefully,  and  we  saw,  to  our  dismay,  a  large  body  of 
men  hurrying  about.  It  was  clear  we  had  fallen  upon  a 
large  troop  of  banditti,  men  whose  profession  is  rob- 
bery and  murder.  My  poor  Mussulmen  were  more 
terrified  than  the  Burmans  at  the  savage  appearance 
of  these  lawless  men.  I  knew  we  should  have  but 
a  slender  hope  of  making  our  escape,  unless  by 
boldness  we  could  terrify  them.  In  a  short  time, 
however,  six  boats,  with  some  seventy  men,  all  arm- 
ed, and  uttering  wild,  savage  cries,  came  down  to- 
wards us.  Nearly  naked,  their  hair  hanging  loosely 
and  flying  in  the  wind — some  brandishing  their 
swords,  and  others  poising  spears  in  the  air  or  grasp- 
ing muskets — it  was  a  scene  sufficiently  terrific. 
My  men  and  boys  except  one,  lay  down  in  the  bot- 
tom of  the  boat.  Slowly,  in  the  form  of  a  crescent, 
they  gathered  around  me,  and  when  about  two  hun- 
dred yards  off,  they  fired  a  round  of  twenty-five  or 
thirty  shots  into  my  boat.  The  balls  whistled  around 
me  in  every  direction.  Their  yells  rent  the  air  and 
echoed  among  the  hills.     T  looked  around  for  a  mo- 


116  BURMAH. 


ment  t»  see  if  any  of  my  people  were  killed.     The 
turban  of  the  noble  fellow  who  stood  up  was  pierced, 
but  no  one  was  hurt.     Thinking  it  madness  to  offer 
resistance  against  such  a  body  of  armed  savages,  I 
laid  down  the  pistols  and  told  them  to  fire  no  more — 
that  I   surrendered.      I    had   hardly   uttered    these 
words,  when  five  or  six  shots  more  were  fired,  some 
of  which   pierced  the  boat.     I    remonstrated   with 
them  on  the  folly  and  cowardice  of  firing  upon  unarm- 
ed men — told  them  they  had  nothing  to  fear — and 
that  they  saw  I  had  nothing  in  my  hands,  and  should 
make  no  resistance.     They  gathered  slowly  around 
me,  their  bayonets  fixed,  their  spears  poised  in  the 
air,  and  their  swords  drawn,  as  if  they  intended  cut- 
ting me  in  a  thousand  pieces.     It  was  a  fearful  mo- 
ment.    Soon  I  was  encased  with  the  points  of  spears 
and  bayonets  ;  they  raved,  threatened,  and  uttered 
the  most  horrible  imprecations.     In  a  few  minutes 
one  had  on  my  coat,  another  my  waistcoat,  another 
my  hat,  and  another  my  shoes  ;  they  began  to  tear 
off  the  rest  of  my  clothes,  when  I  resisted,  and  ap- 
pealed to  the  leader,  who  ordered  them  to  desist. 
Brought  to  the   shore,  we  were  hurried  before  the 
robber-chief.     All  my  books,  clothes,  papers,  provis- 
ions, medicines,  moi.ey,  and  every  thing  in  the  boat 
were  brought  and  laid  in  a  heap,  and  soon  distributed. 
Being  successful  in  retaining  part  of  the  clothes  I  had 
on  when  taken,  I  appealed  to  the.  robber-chief  for  my 
cloak,  or  a  blanket,  but  to  no  purpose — and  then  urged 


BURMAH.  IP 

for  one  of  my  coats,  but  all  in  rain.  Sitting  down 
beside  him,  with  my  hand  upon  his  knee,  and  look- 
ing him  full  in  the  face,  I  said — "  I  am  a  teacher  of 
religion,  and  have  here  several  English,  Greek,  and 
Shan  books,  for  which  your  men  can  have  no  use, 
and  I  shall  esteem  it  as  a  great  favor  if  you  will 
order  these  fellows  to  give  them  back."  The  mus- 
cles of  his  hard  face  relaxed,  and  urging  my  plea  in 
a  manner  which  I  deemed  best  adapted  to  awaken 
any  latent  feeling  of  kindness  in  his  dark  and  savage 
breast,  he  bade  them  return  to  me  my  books  and  pa- 
pers. This  being  done,  I  was  ordered  to  my  little 
boat,  and  the  order  was  rapidly  and  roughly  executed. 
A  guard  was  placed  over  me — a  consultation  was 
held.  I  was  near  enough  to  hear  much  that  was 
said.  Soon  one  of  my  Burman  boys  came  to  me, 
pale  and  trembling,  "  Teacher,  you  are  to  be  be- 
headed at  sundown," — and  could  say  no  more  ;  cov- 
ering his  face  with  his  two  hands,  he  wept  bitterly. 
It  was  an  awfu1  moment.  "  To  be  beheaded  at  sun- 
down "  I  said  to  myself,  and  a  cold,  death-like  chill 
crept  over  my  whole  frame.  I  felt  faint,  and  my 
eyes  became  dim.  "  The  Lord  reigneth  ;  He  will 
do  all  things  well,"  was  a  consoling  thought.  Rally- 
ing a  little,  I  said  to  the  noble  Christian  boy,  in  ar 
under  tone,  ''Where  are  the  rest7"  "They  are 
afraid  and  have  hid  in  the  bushes,"  he  replied.  Soor 
tne  cry  was  heard,  "  Another  boat  *s  coming," — and 
awav  went  an  armed  boat  to  bring  it  in.     Then  an- 


118  BURMAH. 

other,  and   another,    and   before   night   twenty-nme 
boats,  with  men,  women,  and  children,  were  captured 
and  robbed.     It  was  a  scene  of  wretchedness  never 
to  be  forgotten.     All  were  stripped  of  every  thing, 
?  iid  many  cruelly  beaten,  but  none  were  placed  un 
der  guard  but  myself.     The  sun  was  fast  sinking  in 
the  west ;  now  and  then  a  chill  of  horror  would  come 
over  me,  but  it  was  only  rr  omentary.     "  Death  is 
but  death,"   I  said  to  myself,   "and  if  it  be  God's 
will  that  I  should  die  by  the  hands  of  these  sav- 
ages, it  will  all  be  well  ;"  and  I  felt  strong  to  en- 
dure.    The  sun  was  nearly  touching  the  top  of  the 
western  mountains,  and  I  began  to  count  the  minutes 
that  remained.     The  robbers,  except  my  guard,  were 
sitting  in  a  body  at  no  great  distance.     I  gazed  alter- 
nately upon  these  savages  and  upon  the  retiring  sun. 
The  thoughts  and  feelings  of  that  hour  must  remain 
unrecorded.     One  of  the  robbers  spoke,  and  I  started 
upon  my  feet.     In  silence  I  repeated  his  words,  and 
for  a  moment  was  bewildered  :  his  words  were  like 
the  sweetest  music,  and  for  a  moment  I  thought  it  an 
illusion.     "  If  this  foreigner  is  killed,  it  will  make  a 
great  noise."     "  Very  true,"   said   another,   and  so 
several  spoke.     Here  they  became  divided  in  their 
counsels,  and  a  loud  and  angry  debate  took  place. 
The  robber-chief  commanded  silence,  and  then  said, 
"  This  foreigner  shall  not  be  put  to  death  to-night — 
hereafter,  we  will  see  what  is  best  to  be  done." 
In  a  way  I  had  never  thought  of,  God  brought 


BURMAH. 


119 


deliverance.     The  robbers  all  retired,  loaded  with 
spoils,  ordering  ua  all  to  remain.     At  dark,  my  /our 
Burman  boys  and  three  of  my  boatmen  came  to  me. 
We  fell  on  our  knees  and  thanked  God  for  his  mer- 
ciful deliverance.     Without  clothes  and  without  food, 
we  lay  clown  and  slept.     On  the  following  morning, 
very  early,  a  few  miles  further  down,  at  Sabanago, 
a  large  village,  I  was  attacked  again  by  about  two 
hundred  men.     They  tore  off  every  article  of  cloth- 
ing, tied  me  with  ropes,  and  drove  me  on  before  the 
points  of  their  spears.     Having  only  a  piece  of  cloth 
which  one  of  my  Burman  boys  gave  me,  I  was  taken 
into  the  village  and  made  to  sit  in  a  ring,  marked  on 
the  ground,  about  three  feet  in  diameter.     A  guard 
of  fifteen  men  was  finally  placed  over  me.     My  men 
were  beaten  with  ratans  in  a  most  brutal  manner ; 
the  bodies  of  three  of  them  were  dreadfully  lacerated. 
This  troop  of  banditti,  and  that  up  the  river,  I  found 
were  leagued  together.     After  sitting  in  the  ring  all 
day,  I  was  ordered  into  my  boat,  and  there  guarded. 
My  Burmans  not  being  under  a  guard,  and  expecting 
that  I  should  be  decapitated  or  sold  into  slavery,  qui- 
etly fled  away,  except  one  who  was  ill,  and  a  boy,  who 
determined  to  stay  by  me  till  the  last.     He  begged 
rice  for  me,  and  at  length  procured  from  the  rob- 
bers a  pair  of  m)  shoes  and  a  pair  of  trousers.     On 
the  third   day  of   my    captivity,   this    noble-hearted 
Christian  boy  was  forcibly  taken  off  by  one  of  the 
robber  chiefs.     This  was  one  of  my  greatest  trials  • 


120  BUK.MAH. 

foi  my  last  earthly  support  seemed  to  be  removed 
The  same  evening,  however,  between  ten  and  eleven 
at  night,  a  young  Kathay,  who  had  been  brought  up 
at  Ava,  crept  cautiously  into  my  boat,  and  said, — 
"  Teacher,  I  was  once  at  your  house  in  Ava,  and 
it  makes  me  sad  to  see  you  without  clothes  and 
food.  I  have  bribed  the  guards  to  let  me  bring  you 
a  cloth  and  some  rice  and  salt.  I  will  bring  you  rice 
every  night,  and  let  you  know  if  there  is  any  way  to 
escape."  There  was  just  starlight  enough  to  see  his 
form  and  the  outlines  of  his  face.  I  said  to  myself, 
as  I  began  to  eat  the  rice  he  brought  me  in  a  plantain- 
leaf,  This  is  Heaven's  messenger.  His  language  was 
not  more  humane  than  the  tones  in  which  he  uttered 
it  were  kind  and  soothing.  He  was  faithful  to  his  word. 
My  guards  became  careless.  I  had  amused  them 
for  hours  every  day  by  telling  them  about  America 
and  England,  and  other  countries  ;  and  they  evidently 
thought  me  very  well  satisfied  with  my  situation. 
On  the  fifth  night  I  thought  them  all  asleep  before 
morning,  but  it  was  extremely  hazardous  to  attempt 
an  escape.  The  sixth  day  came,  and  I  was  still  a 
prisoner.  To  give  all  the  particulars  of  these  six 
days,  the  horrible  cruelty  I  saw  inflicted  upon  men 
and  women,  and  all  the  acts  of  barbarity  I  endured, 
would  occupy  too  much  space.  Daily  I  saw  women 
tied  with  ropes,  their  hands  and  feet  bound  together, 
and  they  wxre  then  beaten  with  ratans.  In  some  cases 
they  tortured  them  ;  the  object  of  such  cruelty  was  to 


BURMAH.  121 

gtet  their  concealed  silver  and  jewels.  I  often  forgot 
my  own  wretchedness  whilst  sympathizing  with  these 
unhappy  females,  and  whilst  listening  to  the  heart- 
rending cries  of  their  little  children,  as  they  crowded 
around  and  embraced  their  lacerated  and  bleeding 
mothers.  I  saw  one  little  girl  kicked  in  the  most 
brutal  manner,  because  she  flung  her  arms  around 
her  mother's  neck  and  kissed  her  pale  and  apparent- 
ly dying  lips.  Scenes  like  these,  but  as  varied  as 
the  most  refined  and  inventive  cruelty  could  produce, 
1  witnessed  from  morning  till  evening.  I  made  up 
my  mind  that  day  to  get  away,  or  die  in  the  attempt. 
I  did  get  away,  and  after  traveling  seven  days,  reach- 
ed Ava.  How  beautiful  and  impressive  the  language 
of  David.—"  Though  I  walk  through  the  dark  valley 
of  the  shadow  of  death,  I  will  fear  no  evil." 


Ularg  at  t\)t  Septilctjrc. 

BY  MISS  HANNAH  F.  GOULD. 

Then  the  disciples  went  away  again  unto  their  own  home.  But  Mary  stood 
xo'it  the  sepulchre  weeping."— John  xx.  10-11. 

O,  he's  gone  !  the  tomb  forsaken  ! 

They  have  come  where  Jesus  lay, 
Roll'd  aside  the  stone,  and  taken 

Him  they  crucified  away  ! 
Here's  the  shroud  we  sorrowing  made  him 

Whom  they  pierced  with  nail  and  spear : 
Murderers  of  our  Lord  !  they've  laid  him 

Far  from  sight — he  is  not  here. 

Lo  !  I  see,  where  he  was  sleeping 

Pale,  in  death's  cold,  shadowy  night, 
Watchmen  ;  they  his  place  are  keeping 

Clothed  in  raiment  dazzling  white  ! 
And,  as  consolation  giving, 

'Twas  of  him  they  sweetly  said, 
"  Weep  him  not ;  nor  seek  the  living 

In  the  mansion  of  the  dead." 


MARY  AT  THE  SEPULCHRE.  123 

They  are  angels  ! — and  they  know  me  ! 

Sinful  mortal,  I'm  afraid  ! 
Stranger,  Sir,  wilt  thou  not  show  me 

Where  my  blessed  Lord  is  laid  ? 
Tis  his  voice  ! — my  name  he  calleth  ! 

Hail,  Rabboni  ! — Israel's  King  ! 
Conquer'd,  death  beneath  thee  falleth  ; 

Broke  his  sceptre — lost  his  sting  I 
Wewburyport,  Mass. 


5Tl)£  JDtbt  of  ^Jmsljing  ^ttmamtg  to  Eeiromttjj 
JDeitg. 

The  duty  of  the  Christian  church  to  give  the  Gos- 
pel to  the  heathen,  is  one  that  scarce  seems  at  this 
day  to  need  discussion  or  argument. 

The  command  of  our  blessed  Redeemer  as  to  this 
matter,  forms  the  close  of  Matthew's  Gospel :  "  And 
Jesus  came  and  spake  unto  them,  saying,  All  power 
is  given  unto  me  in  heaven  and  in  earth.  Go  ye 
therefore  and  teach  all  nations,  baptizing  them  in  the 
name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and  of  the 
Holy  Ghost;  teaching  them  to  observe  all  things 
whatsoever  I  have  commanded  you  :  and  lo,  I  am 
with  you  alway,  even  unto  the  end  of  the  world. 
Amen."  We  have  here  a  law  enacted  for  the  church, 
by  him,  who  is  not  only  her  Head,  but  who  claims 
all  power  in  heaven  and  in  earth.  This  law  requires 
that  all  nations  be  taught  his  doctrines  and  his  ordi- 
nances. To  encourage  the  church  in  attempting 
obedience  to  this  enactment,  he  pledges  his  own  pre- 
sence with  them  to  the  end  of  the  world.     Js  it  ask 


THE  DEBT  OF  HUMANITY.  125 

ed,  then,  how  long  this  duty  endures  ?  Is  the  inquiry 
made,  are  any  other  than  the  apostles  here  addressed ? 
The  answer  is,  the  command  to  preach  Christ's  Gos- 
pel among  all  nations,  and  the  command  to  practise 
Christ's  ordinances,  are  entwined  together.  Most 
Christians  believe  in  the  perpetual  obligation  of  these 
ordinances  ;  they  must  believe,  then,  in  the*  perpetual 
obligation  of  Christian  missions.  The  two  are  so 
united,  that  he  who  would  divorce  them  must  destroy 
both.  That  Christian  missions  were  to  continue,  ap- 
pears again  from  the  way  in  which  Christ's  promise 
is  pledged  to  his  church.  He  does  not  speak  of  his 
presence  as  being  given  to  the  apostles  or  the  Chris- 
tians of  the  first  centuries  only,  but  it  is  to  be  the 
guard  and  glory  of  the  church  to  the  end  of  the 
world. 

There  was  something  most  impressive  m  the  scene 
and  circumstances  in  which  this  commission  was  given 
to  the  disciples  of  Christ.  It  was  the  farewell  trum- 
pet as  his  chariot  went  up  the  skies.  Here,  indeed, 
he  speaks  to  us  out  of  heaven.  It  was  as  our  Mas- 
ter was  quitting  the  church  His  bodily  and  visible 
presence  was  to  cease  amongst  them.  In  its  stead 
was  to  come  the  invisible  and  spiritual  superinten- 
dence of  the  Holy  Ghost.  At  such  an  hour,  under 
sucl  circumstances,  the  care  of  the  heathen  world 
was  a  bequest  made  to  the  world  by  her  departing 
Redeemer.  The  name  of  Testament  is  given,  in  the 
popular  use  of  language,  to  the  volume  of  the  Chris- 
11* 


126  THE    DEBT    OF    HUMANITY. 

tian  Scriptures.  Some  think  this  English  word  ar 
unhappy  one,  as  not  sufficiently  including  the  en 
tire  meaning  of  the  original  term  which  it  is  employed 
co  translate.  It  would  seem  that  the  title,  "  Testa- 
ment," taking  that  word  in  its  ordinary  meaning  of  a 
last  will,  belongs  to  a  small  portion  of  this  volume 
rather  than  to  the  entire  book  to  which  it  is  attached. 
It  would  seem  to  belong  to  the  parting  command  of 
Christ.  We  might  hold  up,  perhaps,  more  properly, 
under  that  title,  the  closing  sentences  of  the  Gospel 
by  Matthew.  The  missionary  commission  of  the 
church  is  in  truth  the  last  will  and  testament  of  our 
Redeemer  and  Master.  Sealed  on  the  day  of  Cal- 
vary, and  published  on  the  day  of  Pentecost,  it  be- 
queathed the  charge  of  a  lost  world  to  the  church  of 
the  saints  of  the  most  high  God. 

The  command  comes  to  us,  then,  with  the  added 
sacredness  of  the  last  request  of  a  Friend  whon  we 
have  loved,  whose  bounties  we  inherit,  and  whose 
memory  we  profess  tenderly  to  cherish.  It  is  no 
vulgar  act  of  disobedience  to  neglect  such  an  injunc- 
tion. It  is  more  than  insensibility — it  is  sacrilege. 
Whether  the  executors  of  this  will  have  been  faith- 
ful to  their  'rust,  or  false,  is  a  question  we  must  leave 
to  their  own  conscience.  Every  one  of  us  must  an- 
swer that  question  for  himself  and  to  his  God,  for 
we — we  are  those  executors.  Christians  are  left  in 
charge  of  the  fulfilment  of  an  instrument,  ratified  in 
the  blood  of  their  Lord. 


THE  DEBT  OF  HUMANITY.  12? 

This  command,  the  primitive  disciples  felt  in  all 
its  weight.  They  accepted  the  legacy,  and  did  their 
share  of  discharging  the  trust ;  and  the  heathen  world 
reeled  under  the  shock  given  to  idolatry  by  the  ad- 
venturous love  of  the  early  Christians,  as  they  went 
everywhere  preaching  the  Gospel.  And  every  revi- 
val of  true  Christianity  has  been  marked  by  a  re- 
newed regard  to  the  spirit  of  this  parting  command 
of  our  Saviour.  A  fervid  piety  has  always  been  ag- 
gressive in  its  spirit  towards  the  world.  It  is  matter 
of  thanksgiving  that,  in  our  times,  the  obligation  of 
this  charge  is  beginning  to  be  more  and  more  felt 
Yet  the  church  has  evidently  much  to  learn  before 
reaching  the  zeal  of  primitive  times,  and  before 
claiming  rightly  to  feel,  and  fully  to  obey,  this  last 
injunction  of  her  ascending  Lord. 

Having  adverted  to  our  Lord's  own  explicit  com- 
mand, made  at  such  a  time,  it  would  seem  as  if  all 
other  discussion  of  the  subject  were  idle.  He  who 
does  not  feel  the  obligation  of  this  motive  can  be 
reached  by  no  other.  Yet  it  may  be  well  to  allude 
to  yet  other  considerations,  as  further  binding  us  to 
obey  this  most  solemn  commandment. 

Our  own  professions,  then,  require  of  us  to  dis- 
charge the  same  duty.  Each  member  of  the  church 
has  by  implication,  if  not  in  explicit  words,  avowed 
himself  one  of  a  missionary  body.  A  man's  volun- 
tary engagements  may  come  in  to  reinforce  higher 
aw.     A  man  mav  be  bound  by  the  law  of  God  and 


128  THE    DEBT    OF    HUMANITY. 

of  nature,  to  discharge  a  duty,  as,  for  instance,  that 
of  relieving  an  aged  and  needy  parent.  He  is  guilty 
if  he  neglect  that  duty,  though  he  has  never  promised 
to  discharge  it.  But  if  he  has  besides  acknowledged 
that  obligation,  and  by  bond  and  by  oath  engaged 
himself  solemnly  to  its  fulfilment,  his  neglect  after 
such  additional  engagements,  is  most  aggravated. 
To  the  want  of  filial  piety,  he  adds  the  crime  of  false- 
hood, dishonesty,  and  perjury.  The  man  uniting  him- 
self with  the  Christian  church,  has  put  himself  under 
such  additional  obligations  to  discharge  what  was  al- 
ready a  duty.  He  has  received  baptism  by  virtue 
of  that  missionary  commission,  the  charter  of  the 
church. 

In  all  the  prayers  and  songs  of  the  sanctuary,  the 
same  missionary  vows  on  the  part  of  every  Christian 
are  implied.  Our  hymns  and  our  supplications  con- 
tinually refer  to  the  glorious  prophecies  of  the  final 
and  universal  triumph  of  the  Gospel.  When  we 
pray  that  His  kingdom  may  come,  whether  in  verse 
or  in  prose,  we  acknowledge  afresh  the  militant  and 
aggressive  character  of  the  church,  and  profess  an 
interest  in  its  final  conquests.  The  universal  king- 
dom of  the  Messiah  presupposes  human  labor  to  aid 
in  its  establishment.  Divine  agency,  although  by  no 
means  necessarily  confined  to  that  channel,  moves 
ordinarily  in  the  channel  of  human  instrumentality. 
Faith  is  said  by  the  apostle  to  be  the  gift  of  God,  and 
yet  it  cometh  bv  hearing.     The  human  teaching  and 


THE  DEBT  OF  HUMANITY.  129 

the  divine  blessing  go  together.  To  neglect,  then,  the 
appointed  means:  to  be  utterly  indifferent  to  the  mis- 
sionary efforts  of  the  church,  is  virtually  to  retract 
the  prayer,  "  Thy  kingdom  come,"  and  to  say  in* 
stead,  "  Let  thy  kingdom  go.  Let  thy  church  decay 
and  disappear  from  the  earth.  Let  the  dominion  of 
Christ  pass  away,  and  let  his  name  fade  from  under 
the  whole  heavens." 

Are  we  not  then  justified  in  turning  to  every  mem- 
ber of  Christ's  church,  of  either  sex,  and  of  whatever 
age  or  condition,  and  in  reminding  them,  that  in  the 
sacraments  and  devotions  of  the  house  of  God,  they 
have  solemnly  sworn  themselves  away  to  the  mis- 
sionary enterprise,  and  that  they  cannot  withhold 
their  sympathies,  their  alms,  and  their  prayers,  with- 
out aggravated  guilt  ? 

We  welcome  them  to  a  missionary  church,  and  the 
songs  and  the  prayers  in  which  they  take  part  are 
missionary  intercessions,  prayers  that  God  would 
subdue  and  convert  all  nations.  We  must  then  say 
to  them,  that  indifference  to  the  welfare  of  Christian 
missions,  a  disposition  to  hold  back  from  their  share 
in  the  blessed  work,  is  a  failure  to  fulfil  their  vows 
and  oaths. 

The  crying  necessities  of  the  unevangelized  na- 
tions of  our  globe  afford  another  evidence  as  to  the 
duty  of  Christians  respecting  the  dissemination  of 
the  Gospel.  Misery  may  be  so  extreme  as  to  make 
'\  at  once  the  charge  of  every  stranger  who  discovers 


k  30  THE    DEBT    OF    HUMANITY. 

it  to  relieve  it.  The  condition  of  those  whom  our 
Lord  commanded  to  be  instructed,  and  for  whose  in- 
struction the  Christian  church  has  pledged  herself  to 
care,  enhances  our  obligations  to  sustain  the  mission- 
ary enterprise.  The  more  extreme  the  sufferings 
we  undertake  to  relieve,  and  which  we  have  the 
means  to  relieve,  the  greater  the  promptitude  with 
which  that  relief  should  be  extended.  The  princi- 
ple attributed  to  Howard  here  comes  into  exercise : 
1  Our  superfluities  are  to  be  sacrificed  for  other 
men's  necessities,  and  even  our  necessities  must  be 
taxed  to  relieve  them  in  their  extremities."  The  un- 
evangelized  portions  of  the  globe  are  in  this  extremi- 
ty of  misery.  Imagination  cannot  look  steadily  into 
the  abysses  of  their  wretchedness.  Language  fails 
to  wield  such  masses  of  distress. 

Ignorance  of  the  true  God  has  brought  with  it 
countless  forms  of  vice  and  wo.  Were  it  not  for  our 
confidence  in  the  omnipotence  of  that  Saviour  whose 
Gospel  we  diffuse,  the  view  would  be  not  merely 
appalling,  but  overwhelming,  which  presents  itself 
to  the  eye  of  the  church  when  gazing  into  the  vast 
gulf  of  sin  and  death.  It  is  not  merely  coarse  idola- 
try, in  its  foulest  and  bloodiest  forms,  but  it  is  super- 
stition organizing  itself  by  the  aids  of  a  false  philoso- 
phy into  elaborate  and  learned  and  imposing  systems, 
poisoning  the  whole  education  and  legislation  of  a 
and,  all  its  arts,  its  science,  and  its  literature 


BY   REV.  HENRY  BACON. 

It  is  always  interesting  to  study  any  motive 
power.  This  interest  deepens  in  proportion  as  the 
promised  results  are  important,  taking  hold  of  the 
essential  concerns  of  society  and  the  best  aims  of  the 
Church.  On  this  ground  there  can  be  nothing  more 
important  than  the  Missionary  Spirit — the  grand 
motive  power  that  must  lie  behind  all  agencies  and 
instrumentalities — the  animus  of  all  true  success. 
What  then  is  this  spirit  ?  I  answer,  it  is  an  humble, 
patient,  enduring  reliance  on  the  promises  of  Al- 
mighty Grace,  from  the  simple  fact  that  they  are 
written,  that  God  has  given  them  in  his  Word.  The 
soul  in  order  to  obtain  this  spirit  must  be  like  the 
humble  negro,  who  when  asked  how  it  was  possible 
for  him  to  always  be  so  cheerful  in  God,  replied, 
"  When  I  am  sad  I  fall  flat  on  the  promises  and 
pray  right  up  to  the  Spirit."  It  is  in  this  way  that 
the  Christian  becomes  "  a  partaker  of  the  divine  na- 
ture." 2  Peter  i.  4.  He  has,  as  he  receives  without 
doubting  the  exceeding  great  and  precious  promises, 
something  of  the  spirit  that  begat  them,  that  gave 
them,   that    carried    on   the  grand  process   of  grace 

131 


132  THE    MISSIONARY    SPIRI'i. 

which  called  Abraham  and  all  that  followed  in  the 
line  of  the  promises,  till  the  advent  of  Jesus  in  "the 
fulness  of  time."  The  more  we  rely  on  God,  with- 
out questioning  the  possibility  of  accomplishing  what 
he  has  predicted,  the  more  we  shall  be  able  to  take 
the  view  which  God  takes  of  things,  giving  a  pre- 
sent existence  to  "  things  that  are  not,"  but  are  to 
come,  as  the  artist  sees  by  his  rapt  imagination 
the  ideal  he  hopes  one  day  shall  shine  before  the 
eyes  of  the  world. 

The  absence  of  the  true  missionary  spirit  is  to  be 
attributed,  in  a  great  degree,  to  discussing  the  pro- 
babilities of  success  on  human  grounds,  rather  that 
communing  with  God,  drinking  in  the  life  of  his 
presence,  the  ardor  of  his  love,  the  adoration  of  that 
Will  whose  energy  fulfils  itself.  I  remember  how 
this  matter  was  impressed  on  my  memory  by  a  re- 
mark of  a  young  female  member  of  the  Society  of 
Friends,  in  an  hour  when  my  soul  was  sad,  be- 
cause God's  work  seemed  to  move  on  so  slowly. 
"  We  are  bidden,"  said  she,  "  to  cast  our  care  upon 
God,  and  not  on  our  work ;  but  we  choose  to  take 
the  care,  rather  than  to  do  the  work."  The  rebuke 
was  pungent.  To  go  to  work  was  found  to  be  the 
best  remedy  for  care.  God  takes  the  care  as  a  re- 
ward for  our  work  ;  and  it  is  an  admirable  arrange- 
ment of  divine  Providence,  that  the  nature  of  the 
Christian  work  is  to  lift  from  the  soul  ihe  burden  of 
:are  ;  for  the  spirit   awakened  by  christian  labor  is 


THE    MISSIONARY    SPIRIT.  133 

the  spirit  of  glad  prophecy,  and  leaving  times  and 
seasons  of  complete  success  to  God,  it  rejoices  to 
see,  as  it  does  see,  the  day  of  Christ,  and  is  glad. 
John  viii.  56.  I  shall  never  forget  an  illustration  of 
this  given  by  a  converted  Jew  with  whom,  at  the 
time,  I  was  in  companionship.  I  guided  him  to  the 
residence  of  a  minister  allied  to  him  by  church  con- 
nection, and  the  result  of  the  visit  was  the  decision, 
on  the  part  of  the  minister's  wife,  who  spake  for  the 
husband,  that  "  the  time  had  not  come  for  doing 
any  thing  for  the  Jew"  "  Is  not  the  Jew  a  man  ?" 
said  my  friend  to  me.  "  Is  it  not  time  to  apply  the 
means  of  grace  to  any  soul  we  can  reach  ?  There 
is  certainly  a  work  to  be  done  for  the  Jew,  and 
while  a  work  is  before  us  the  time  for  doing  some- 
thing is  surely  come."  He  was  sad  for  a  while.  He 
caught  something  of  another's  distrust  and  feeble 
faith  ;  for  contact  with  the  indifferent  Christian  is 
like  the  approach  of  a  warm  substance  to  a  cold  one, 
when  the  heat  from  the  one  is  drawn  out  and  less- 
ened by  the  other.  But  the  Christian  Jew  was 
soon  at  work.  He  found  some  of  the  house  of 
Jacob  in  the  city,  and  he  plied  them,  kindly  and 
courteously,  with  christian  arguments ;  and  the  way 
in  which  they  received  him  convinced  him  the  time 
for  doing  had  come.  Work  removed  his  care.  What 
a  ^7hile  before  was  a  burden,  became  now  wings  to 
fly  with,  and  he  had  warmth  to  spare  without  being 
In  danger  of  freezing  himself. 


134  THE    MISSIONARY    SPIRIT. 

The  eminent  Mr.  Jay  gives  a  fine  illustration 
of  the  action  of  the  true  missionary  spirit.  On  one 
occasion  he  was  sketching  in  an  address  the  early 
history  of  the  Baptist  Missionary  Society,  London, 
England,  and  describing  the  difficulties  encountered, 
especially  from  the  want  of  faith  in  its  success.  The 
promises  were  clear ;  the  duty  was  plain ;  examples 
of  success  shone  in  the  annals  of  the  apostolic 
churches  ;  but  yet  the  heart  of  the  church  was  held 
back  from  the  great  cause.  He  himself  was  one  of 
the  doubters— that  is,  as  to  the  time  of  effort;  and 
at  length  he  determined  to  visit  the  venerable  John 
Newton  and  converse  with  him  on  the  subject.  It 
was  an  interesting  sight  to  see  the  young  man  the 
most  of  a  doubter,  the  old  man  the  most  of  a  be- 
liever. The  venerable  servant  of  Christ  received  the 
young  man  with  ardent  affection,  and  requested  him 
to  state  all  his  difficulties  freely.  Mr.  Jay  did  this 
at  considerable  length,  especially  insisting  on  the 
manifold  obstacles  which  idolatry  and  human  de- 
pravity, in  all  their  various  forms,  presented  to  the 
extension  of  the  Gospel.  When  he  had  ceased,  the 
venerable  clergyman  slowly  laid  down  his  pipe, 
gathered  up  his  form  to  an  erect  posture,  and  look- 
ing his  junior  brother  full  in  the  face,  said  in  a  most 
emphatic  tone,  "My  brother,  I  have  never  doubted 
the  power  of  God  to  convert  tne  heathen  world  since 
ne  converted  me."  "Never  from  that  period,"  said 
ne  preacher,  "have  I  had  a  doubt  on  the  subjec>  M 


THE    MISSIONARY    SPIRIT.  135 

That  was  an  eloquent  answer.  If  God's  grace  hath 
wrought  in  us,  He  by  that  grace  hath  given  experi- 
mental evidence  of  what  he  can  do.  What  is  there 
in  others  in  the  way  of  efficient  grace  that  was  not 
in  us?  No  Christian  rightly  understands  God's 
work  in  his  soul  till  he  finds  that  work  a  prophecy 
of  what  may  be  done  in  others.  Every  conversion 
is  valuable  for  three  ends  :  It  gives  to  the  individual 
a  new  and  better  life  ;  it  speaks  through  the  power 
of  example  ;  and  it  can  always  be  quoted  for  encou- 
ragement in  reference  to  any  given  case  of  effort  at 
conversion.  This  latter  thought  is  all-important. 
Does  it  not  find  a  scriptural  witness  in  what  the 
apostle  says  to  the  Ephesians,  when  he  speaks  of 
their  conversion  as  though  they  had  passed  the  re- 
surrection and  were  seated  in  heavenly  places,  where, 
as  it  were,  they  were  put  on  exhibition — made  a 
glorious  spectacle  to  the  world,  "  that  in  the  ages 
to  come  God  might  show  the  exceeding  riches  of  his 
grace  in  his  kindness  through  Christ  Jesus."  Eph. 
ii.  7.  All  conversions  are  monumental  of  divine 
grace.  They  show,  or  exhibit  that  grace  ;  the  riches 
of  that  grace  ;  its  operation  through  ages,  exceeding 
all  possible  speculations,  and  outwinging  the  fleetest 
and  most  brilliant  imagination.  Let  the  meditative 
and  devotional  soul  fasten  on  these  thoughts  of 
grace — the  riches  of  grace — the  exceeding  riches  of 
grace —the  exceeding  riches  of  a  grace  that  knows 
no  limit  of  ages,  but  like  him,  through  whom   it  is 


136  THE    MISSIONARY    SPIRIT. 

manifested,  is  "  the  same  yesterday,  to-day,  and 
forever.  Then  that  soul  can  fall  flat  on  the  promises 
and  pray  right  up  to  the  Spirit — the  spirit  of  all 
piety  and  goodness,  and,  therefore,  the  essential 
spirit  of  the  missionary  work. 

God  has  spoken,  let  us  do.  This  is  the  whole  of 
the  missionary  charter;  and  we  shall  find  the  best 
order  of  effort  to  be,  to  engage  in  the  nearest  work, 
and  by  fidelity  to  that,  to  nourish  the  best  spirit  for 
every  other  effort,  however  remote.  I  have  often 
thought  the  record  in  Nehemiah  concerning  the 
priests  who  repaired  the  portion  of  the  wall  of  Je- 
rusalem "  above  the  horse  gate,"  was  very  sugges- 
tive, for  it  is  said,  "  Every  one  repaired  over  against 
his  house."  In  this  way  they  spent  the  least  time 
in  going  to,  and  returning  from,  their  work;  and  it 
would  be  a  matter  of  pride  to  repair  well  what 
they  must  constantly  behold,  the  deficiencies  of 
which  would  rebuke  them,  and  the  excellencies  ap- 
prove. Just  so  it  is  with  the  work  to  which  the 
missionary  spirit  prompts  the  Christian.  Do  the 
nearest  something  in  the  way  of  duty  and  it  shall 
strengthen  for  other  labor.  It  will  be  as  the  tiny 
model  by  which  the  mechanic  assures  himself  that 
his  idea  is  good,  that  he  can  apply  it  to  a  greater 
mechanism,  and  that  which  only  serves,  by  the 
model,  to  propel  a  toy  boat,  will  carry  the  ship 
across  the  ocean  with  unparalleled  speed  when  applied 
oi  an  enlarged  form. 


THE    MISSIONARY    SPIRIT. 


137 


To  cherish,  apply,  and  to  strengthen  the  mission- 
ary spirit  in  our  personal  relations,  is  a  duty  easily 
enforced.  There  is  work  for  every  one  to  do ;  and 
God's  grace,  by  every  operation  of  it,  impels  the 
soul  to  apply  to  others  what  has  been  applied  to 
itself.  Love  and  love  only,  "  is  the  fulfilling  of  the 
law,"  in  principle,  in  experience,  in  practice.  A 
Christian  without  love  can  no  more  exist  than  a  sun 
without  ligh'  •:  acaw  i  hing.  III  light  and  havm 
are  employ*  .  in  the  N^w  Testament  to  set  forth 
the  diffusiveness  of  the  spirit  of  the  gospel ;  ana 
the  Christian  is  bidden  not  only  not  to  put  his 
light  "  under  a  bushel,"  but  to  put  it  "  on  a  candle- 
stick," mat  i*-  may  oive  light  to  all  in  the  house, 
remembering 

"  How  fai  cae  candle  throws  its  feeble  beam  ! 
So  shine"  "  »c^  deed  in  this  naughty  world." 

liut  while  [^eie  is  work  for  ry  one,  no  person 
can  do  our  work  for  us.  The  work  of  some  body  must 
■^  nerr]pCted  if  any  one  attemnts  to  do  our  work  for 
us;  and  such  an  one  would  be  compelled  in  the 
hour  of  judgment  to  say  with  the  Bride  in  the  Can- 
ticles : 

'■  They  made  me  keeper  of  the  vineyards, 
But  mine  own  vineyard  have  I  not  kept." 

And  then,  too,  no  one  knows  who  shall  be  able 
to  do  the  greatest  work— who  is  ordained  to  strike 
tfie  chord  that  shall  have  the  most  vibrations,  reach 


138  THE    MISSIONARY    SPIRIT. 

.ng  to  the  greatest  number  of  hearts.  And  is  it  not 
a  profoundly  affecting  thought,  that  hidden  from  us 
is  the  result  of  all  labor,  to  test  our  humility  and 
willingness  to  work  for  God  because  it  is  his  work 
and  he  has  commanded  it.  We  cannot  know  before- 
hand the  greatness  of  the  force  we  may  set  in  motion 
by  the  conversion,  under  God,  of  a  single  soul.  If 
any  of  us  were  sure  we  should  awaken  in  any  given 
subject  of  grace  a  mighty  chief  for  the  church,  an 
eloquent  preacher,  a  learned  scholar,  a  great  re- 
former, how  eagerly  would  we  spring  to  the  labor  ! 
But  no !  This  would  be  to  work  for  something  to 
be  proud  of,  rather  as  an  expression  of  our  humble 
love  of  God.  Better  is  it  to  follow  in  the  footsteps 
of  Christ — to  imitate  Him  who  was  meek  and 
lowly  of  heart,  and  who,  pausing  at  noontide, 
weary,  on  Jacob's  well,  conversed  with  the  de- 
spised Samaritan  woman,  and  found  in  his  labor 
of  love  such  refreshment  that  the  disciples,  when 
they  returned,  marvelled  who  had  brought  him  food 
to  eat.  "My  meat,"  said  he,  "is  to  do  the  will 
of  Him  that  sent  me,  and  to  finish  his  work."  John 
iv.  34,  And  then,  as  though  he  would  show  what 
one  conversion  may  lead  to,  he  speaks  to  his  disci- 
ples of  the  instant  harvest — he  beholds  the  people, 
like  golden  grain,  bending  ready  for  the  laborer 
who  reaps  what  another  hath  sowed.  "  Other  men 
labored,  and  ye  are  entered  into  their  labors,"  he 
said,  intimating  the  foct,  that  al!   through  the  ages 


THE    MISSIONARY    SPIRIT.  189 

the  messengers  of  God  have  been  abroad,  and  so 
great  have  been  the  multiplied  agencies  of  grace, 
that  it  may  be  the  full  harvest  is  ready  where  men 
imagine  the  seed  is  yet  to  be  sown.  O  doubter! 
God  hath  never  slumbered,  nor  slept.  He  hath 
not  been  on  any  journey,  nor  left  his  vineyard  to 
others.  No!  " My  Father,"  said  Jesus,  <•  worketh 
hitherto,  and  I  work."  And  so,  in  union  with  God, 
should  we  strive  to  labor,  though  we  may,  at  times, 
be  like  Abraham  "  in  the  land  of  promise  as  in  a 
strange  country."  Strange  as  the  field  may  seem, 
little  of  fruitfulness  as  it  may  prophecy,  it  is  never- 
theless "  the  land  of  promise."  Wherever  humanity 
is,  there  is  the  land  of  promise  to  the  Christian. 
There  hopefully  he  may  sow  "  the  seed  of  the  king- 
dom." There  he  is  to  remember  that  when  Jesus 
spake  of  himself  as  the  Sower,  he  spake  of  the  differ- 
ent results  that  followed  different  portions  of  the 
sowing.  Therefore  let  us  cling  to  the  promises  of 
God,  take  inspiration  from  them  for  our  labors,  count 
every  soul  of  infinite  value,  and  work  with  a  gener- 
ous outlay,  as  the  harvest  will  be  according  to  the 
quality  and  quantity  of  the  seed. 

"  Scorn  not  the  slightest  word  or  deed, 
Nor  deem  it  void  of  power  : 
There's  fruit  in  each  wind-wafted  seed, 
Waiting  its  natal  hour." 

There  is  yet  another  consideration  concerning  the 
Missionary   Spirit,  and   that   is,  this  spirit  is  some- 


140  THE    MISSIONARY    SPIRIT. 

thing  for  all  times  and  seasons,  while  methods  must 
be  changed  as  experience  enlarges  and  new  facilities 
are  afforded.  That  is  not  a  true  missionary  spirit 
which  is  dependent  for  its  life  on  the  preservation  of 
some  peculiar  form  of  action,  and  which  cannot  com- 
municate itself  to  new  methods,  new  expedients 
which  are  demanded  by  the  times  and  the  unex- 
pected developments  of  Providence.  The  true  spirit 
of  missionary  labor  is  like  that  mysterious  identity 
which  unites  infancy  with  old  age,  despite  all  the 
changes  in  the  physical  organization,  accommodating 
itself  alike  to  the  fresh  and  fair  form  of  the  babe  and 
the  fulness  of  manhood  or  womanhood.  Some 
persons  are  apt  to  imagine  that  failure  ought  to  wait 
on  those  who  suggest  and  adopt  novel  methods  of 
action,  as  it  was  said  by  the  old  generals  of  Europe 
that  Napoleon  ought  not  to  be  victorious,  because 
he  did  not  fight  according  to  rule.  They  had  a 
military  spirit  only  for  certain  forms  of  action  ;  it 
was  not  the  true  military  spirit,  for  that  is  always 
inventive ;  and  hence  Napoleon  did  succeed,  and 
victory  did  perch  upon  his  banners,  so  long  as  a 
great  purpose  was  with  him,  and  he  had  a  unity  of 
unselfishness  to  communicate  to  all  variety  of  action. 
He  failed  when  he  wrought  for  self.  Beautiful  is  the 
true  spirit  of  missionary  effort  as  it  is  seen  to  com- 
municate itself  to  novel  forms  of  experiment,  new 
methods  at  conversion,  laving  aside,  as  in  China, 
monuments   of  heroic    industry  and   endurance,   be- 


THE    MISSIONARY     SPIRIT.  141 

cause  better  renderings  may  be  obtained  of  the  word 
of  God.  All  methods  of  missionary  action,  devised 
with  the  true  spirit  longing  for  seals  of  its  ministry, 
are  kindred  to  the  labors  that  aim  at  giving  new 
versions  of  the  Scripture  to  the  world.  They  are 
the  gospel  translated  into  the  life.  The  Bible  is 
lived  ;  and  of  many  a  meek  missionary  may  it  be 
said,  with  more  aptness  than  when  first  written  — 

"  The  lineaments  of  gospel  grace 
Shine  in  the  features  of  her  face." 

And  then,  too,  this  spirit  that  is  ready  to  identify 
itself  with  any  new  method  of  activity,  and  to  in- 
corporate itself,  as  it  were,  with  any  new  appro- 
priate material,  keeps  the  attention  on  the  alert  for 
new  manifestations  of  divine  favor,  li  the  signs  of  the 
times  ;"  and  it  appreciates  the  fact,  that  God"s  best 
gift  to  us  is  a  new  method  of  operation  promising 
better  success ;  and  we  have  our  Redeemer's  judg- 
ment to  aid  us  in  deciding,  that  if  any  man  is  doing 
wonders  in  the  name  of  Christ,  as  his  disciple,  his 
work  is  an  evidence  of  a  living  union  with  the  great 
head  of  the  church,  though  he  will  not  follow  us. 
jVftrk  ix.  38.  Luke  ix.  49.  .  .  This  is  the  true 
missionary  spirit,  It  accepts  every  form  of  sincere 
activity  for  Christ,  and  is  so  desirous  that  all  the 
Lorn^s  people  should  work,  that  it  eagerly  hails 
any  new  accession,  rejoicing,  with  St.  Paul,  in 
whatever  way  Christ  is  preached.  Phil.  i.  18. 


JHisatonarg  in  i\)t  Nzw  XOtsttxn  Settlement*, 


BY  MRS.  LYDIA  H.   SIGOURNEY. 


The  lake  was  troubled.     Winds  and  waters  strove 
On  its  broad  bosom, — while  with  whelming  force 
The  many  torrents  of  the  hills  were  loosed 
At  the  wild  thunder-gust  that  rudely  sprang 
From  summer's  misty  cradle. 

O'er  the  tide, 
A  little  bark  was  laboring.     Like  a  speck 
It  seem'd  amid  the  billows — but  held  on 
Its  perilous  way,  now  half-submerged,  and  now 
Riding  the  surges  with  an  arrowy  speed 
To  seek  the  shelter  of  a  quiet  bay. 
Two  brawny  oarsmen  steer'd  the  reeling  boat 
Safe  to  its  landing-place,  and  with  them  brought 
A  youthful  stranger,  of  a  serious  mien 
And  gentle  manner.     'Mid  his  slender  stores 
Was  seen  the  Book  which  makes  the  simple  wise  ■ 
For  he  was  of  that  self-denying  band 
Who  bear  the  Gospel's  mission  to  the  poor, 
And  find  their  payment  in  the  wealth  they  give. 
A  few  log-cabins  near  that  lonely  lake 


THE  WESTERN   MISSIONARY.  143 

Rear'd  their  rude  heads.     There,  'mid  the  arid  soil, 
The  pine's  low  murmur  met  the  summer  breeze, 
While  the  half  prostrate  willow  told  how  strong 
Was  the  dire  scourging  of  the  wintry  blast. 
A  hardy  race,  remote  from  all  that  charms 
A  life  refined,  endured  the  ills  that  wait 
The  settler  in  the  wilds.     With  sounding  axe, 
They  from  the  forest  won  each  nook  of  land 
On  which  the  bread-corn  for  their  children  grew. 
'Mid  this  deep  solitude,  the  stranger  paused. 
No  taper  spire  allured  him — nor  the  sound 
Of  tuneful  sabbath-bell. 

Was  this  his  home, 
Whose  graceful  form  and  courtly  nurture  spake 
Of  pleasant  parlors,  and  of  curtain'd  halls, 
Of  pictured  nooks,  whence  trembling  music  stole, 
And  the  oak-garnish'd  study,  where  soft  light 
Through  Gothic  window,  rich  with  trellis'd  vines, 
Gleam'd  o'er  the  storied  page  ? 

What  should  content, 
In  this  unsightly  wilderness,  a  man 
Who  hath  in  him  ambition's  classic  thoughts — 
Senses  that  lean  to  pleasure — nerves  that  wake 
At  memory's  tender  pressure — and  a  heart 
To  thrill  and  beat  at  what  the  world  calls  fame  ? 
What  bows  him  to  such  bonds  ? 

The  love  of  Cb-ist 
And  of  the  souls  he  died  for.     Doubt  ye  not : 
That  love  shall  yield  a  gain,  which  they  who  sen* 


144  THE    WESTERN    MISSIONARY. 

Mammon  or  Mars  partake  not. 

Come  with  me — 
What  time  the  snow-drift  shuts  this  people  out 
From  all  beside — when  through  long,  icy  months, 
Their  care  is  for  the  famine-stricken  herds, 
And  how  to  husband  best  the  scanty  store 
Of  comfort  for  their  households. 

See  the  love 
With  which  they  turn  to  him,  who  kindly  shares 
In  each  privation,  and  with  hallow'd  words, 
Upbears  them,  'mid  their  pilgrimage  of  toil. 
The  old  man,  leaning  on  his  staff,  doth  lift 
His  hand  to  bless  him  ;  and  the  children's  eyes 
Grow  wild  with  pleasure,  when  his  step  is  heard. 
For  well  he  skills  to  teach  those  arts  that  lend 
A  grace  to  poverty,  and  give  to  man 
A  higher  rank  above  the  beasts  he  rules. 
He,  the  untutor'd  lip,  from  dulcet  flute 
Instructs,  to  draw  the  breath  of  melody, — 
The  healer's  cordial  for  the  sick  he  knows, 
And  even  the  snow-shoe,  or  the  fisher's  net 
Can  shape,  and  train  the  tree  whose  fruit  delights, 
And  bid  the  bright  rose  twine  its  blossoms  round 
The  lowly  cottage-eaves.     With  patient  care 
He  gives  the  young  the  lore  of  printed  books, 
Bidding  the  spirits  of  the  mighty  dead 
Hold  converse  with  them  by  the  evening  fire ; 
Till,  like  twin  stamens  in  the  unfolding  mind, 
Knowledge  and  faith  sublime,  rise  side  by  side. 


THE  WESTERN  MlSSlOiNARY.  145 

His  earnest  eloquence  doth  throw  a  guard 
Around  the  Sabbath,  and  the  Law  divine, 
Barring  with  sword  of  flame  transgression  out 
From  his  loved  field  of  labor. 

When  I  mark'd 
The  sympathies,  that  made  this  sterile  spot 
Even  as  a  garden  of  sweet  thoughts,  I  bless'd 
My  Saviour's  meek  religion,  that  inspired 
Such  'intercourse,  and  ask'd  my  musing  heart 
Who  best  the  plaudit  of  high  Heaven  should  win,— 
He  who  hath  slain  his  hecatombs,  and  bridged 
The  flood  with  soldiers  hearts — or  he  who  steer'd 
His  slender  pinnace  o'er  yon  lonely  lake 
To  lead  one  soul  to  Christ ? 


Almost  Styere, 


OR, 


THE    MISSIONARY'S   DEATH. 


BY  REV.  JOHN  DOWLING. 


1  And  when  the  light  of  that  eye  was  gone, 
And  the  quick  pulse  stopp'd,  he  was  almost  there." 

Anoh. 


That  there  is  a  superintending  Providence,  evei 
watchful,  wise,  and  kind,  directing,  regulating,  and 
controlling  the  elements  of  nature  and  the  destinies 
of  men,  is  a  truth  too  plainly  revealed  in  the  Sacred 
Scriptures  and  too  consolatory  to  the  devout  believer, 
to  need  argument  or  defence.  Yet  there  are  times  when 
even  faith  itself  is  staggered  at  the  dark,  mysterious, 
and  unexpected  events  by  which  the  brightest  antici- 
pations are  disappointed,  and  the  highest  hopes  of 
usefulness,  happiness,  and  honor  are  levelled  with 
the  dust.  How  often  has  an  afflicted  and  prostrate 
church,  sighing  over  the  loss  of  some  youthful  pas- 
tor or  missionary,  removed  from  the  field  of  labor, 
which  appeared  before  him  ripe  for  the  harvest,  ere 


ALMCST  THERE.  147 

he  had  scarce  entered  upon  its  toils,  been  compelled 
to  ask  in  astonishment,  if  not  in  unbelief,  at  the  deal- 
ings of  Jehovah,  "  Lord,  wherefore  is  it  that  thou 
contendest  with  us  ?"  and  in  reply  to  the  inquiry,  no 
sound  has  been  heard  to  quiet  the  murmurings  of 
unbelief  but  the  voice  of  God's  sovereignty,  "  Ee 
still,  and  know  that  I  am  God,"  or  the  voice  of  his 
faithfulness,  while  his  hand  pointed  to  a  world  where 
all  is  light,  "  What  I  do  thou  knowest  not  now,  but 
thou  shalt  know  hereafter." 

Such  an  event  occurred  some  eight  or  nine  years 
since,  in  the  lamented,  and,  as  unbelief  would  say, 
untimely  death,  just  as  he  had  reached  the  field  of 
his  expected  toil,  on  the  shores  of  the  Brahmaputra, 
of  a  devoted  young  missionary,  eminent  among  his 
associates  for  piety  and  promise,  and  whose  sudden 
and  painful  departure  cast  a  gloom  over  a  wide  circle 
of  Christian  associates  and  friends,  whose  prayers 
had  followed  him  across  the  deep 

It  was  in  the  autumn  of  1836,  that  a  company  of 
devoted  missionaries  of  the  Cross  bade  farewell  to 
country  and  friends,  for  a  home  and  a  grave  on  the 
suitry  plains  of  Asia.  Each  one  of  this  little  band 
was  interesting,  hopeful,  and  devotedly  pious  ;  but 
among  them  was  one  who  won  every  heart  by  the 
fervo~  of  his  piety  and  zeal,  and  moistened  every  eye 
by  the  pathos,  the  ■  tenderness,  the  heavenly-minded- 
ness  that  characterized  his  farewell  address. 

He  had  just  left  the  sacred  retreat  of  science  and 


148  ALMOST    THERE. 

religion,  where  for  many  a  long  year  he  had  studied, 
and  toiled,  and  prayed,  to  prepare  himself  for  a  mis- 
sionary's work  ;  and  high  expectations  (shared  by  all 
who  knew  him  best)  were  cherished  by  the  honored 
instructors  who  had  just  commended  him  to  God,  of 
his  future  usefulness  and  eminence  as  a  missionary 
of  Christ.  Never  can  I  forget  the  touching  manner 
in  which  he  alluded,  with  faltering  accents  and  stream- 
ing eyes,  to  that  hallowed  spot  which  he  had  now 
left  to  see  no  more  for  ever. 

"  I  am  going,"  said  he,  "  to  the  far-distant  shores 
of  Asia,  to  labor  for  the  salvation  of  the  heathen. 
Long  have  I  desired  to  see  this  day,  and  now  my 
highest  wishes  are  realized,  and  I  shall  soon  enter 
upon  that  loved  employ  to  which  I  have  so  long  been 
looking  forward.  Yet  think  not  that  I  am  indifferent 
to  the  charms  of  home,  and  country,  and  friends.  Ah 
no  !  the  sacrifice  I  feel  to  be  great,  but  it  is  made  for 
(be  sake  of  Him  who  gave  himself  for  me,  and  there- 
fore it  is  made  with  cheerfulness  and  delight.  1 
shall  soon  be  many  thousands  of  miles  away  from 
scenes  and  friends  so  dear ;  but  when  toiling  for  the 
salvation  of  the  poor  idolatrous  heathen,  think  not  that 
i  shall  dismiss  from  my  mind  those  whom  I  leave  be- 
hind in  my  native  land.  Far  from  it !  From  the 
opposite  side  of  the  globe  my  thoughts  will  often  re 
vert  to  my  own  loved  America  ;  I  shall  think  of  its 
peaceful  Sabbaths,  of  its  blessed  privileges,  of  the 
assemblies  of  the  saints  whose  prayers  I  know  will 


ALMOST  THERE. 


149 


follow  us  to  our  distant  home  ;  I  shall  think  of  Chris- 
tian friends  whose  farewell  hand  I  have  grasped,  and 
of  the  many  acts  of  kindness  I  have  received  from 
them  ;  I  shall  think  of  you,  my  Christian  friends  ;  of 
this  assembly  loading  me  with  its  parting  blessing ; 
but  dearer  than  all  I  leave  behind,  I  shall  think"— 
and  here  the  starting  tear  almost  choked  his  utter- 
ance—" I  shall  think  of  that  blessed  Institution  where 
I  have  spent  some  of  the  happiest  years  of  my  life  ; 
of  my  fellow-students  ;  of  the  men  of  God  whose  in- 
structions I  have  shared  ; — and  of  the  beaten  path  in 
the  neighboring  grove,  where  I  have  often  held  com- 
munion with  my  Saviour — 

'That  blessed  retreat  where  I've  chosen  to  pray.'" 

A  few  days  more,  and  with  the  prayers  of  thousands 
following  them,  the  missionary  band  spread  their 
sails  to  the  wind,  and  were  borne  toward  the  land  of 
their  destination. 

A  prosperous  voyage  of  five  months  brought  them 
to  Calcutta,  the  great  capital  of  the  East,  and  the 
hearts  of  anxious  friends  in  their  native  land  were 
soon  cheered  with  the  intelligence  that  they  had  es- 
caped the  dangers  of  the  ocean,  and  were  separated 
only  by  a  few  hundred  miles  of  river  navigation  from 
the  chosen  field  of  their  missionary  labors.  That  field 
was  the  province  of  Assam,  in  the  vicinity  of  the  city 
of  Sadiva,  situated  some  six  or  eight  hundred   miles 


150  ALMOST    THERE 

up  the  river  Brahmaputra,  in  a  northeasterly  direc- 
tion from  Calcutta.  Boats  were  provided,  and  boat- 
men engaged,  and  the  missionary  party,  anxious  to 
reach  their  destination  previous  to  the  rains,  with  but 
little  delay,  commenced  their  river  voyage.  Another 
letter  from  the  devoted  young  missionary  was  re- 
ceived, dated  at  Culna,  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Sunder- 
bunds,  May  3d,  1837,  full  of  pious  joy  and  hope, 
which  told  that  they  were  on  their  way  to  Sadiya, 
and  expected  soon  to  reach  their  future  home  and 
commence  their  labors  for  the  heathen. 

At  the  reception  of  this  letter  many  a  heart  of 
loved  ones  left  behind  beat  high  with  joy  and  grati- 
tude for  the  safety  of  those  so  dear,  and  many  a 
prayer  was  breathed  for  their  continued  prosperity 
and  success  ;  and  yet,  at  the  very  moment  their  eyes 
rested  upon  those  lines,  the  hand  that  traced  them 
was  cold  in  death,  and  the  pious  spirit  that  dic- 
tated them  had  winged  its  way  to  its  native 
heaven  ! 

The  party,  diminished  by  the  departure  of  two  of 
their  number  destined  to  another  part  of  the  mission- 
ary field,  consisted  of  the  interesting  young  man  whe 
is  the  principal  subject  of  this  sketch,  a  brother  mi? 
sionary  who  is  yet  spared  to  labor  for  the  heathen, 
and  their  two  devoted  and  affectionate  wives. 

The  missionaries,  already  on  the  ground,  had  been 
advised  of  the  expected  reinforcement,  and  were  anx- 
iously longing  for  the  arrival  of  those  whose  aid  the« 


ALMOST  THERE.  151 

so  much  needed  in  their  exhausting  and  self-denying 
labors  for  the  perishing  heathen. 

At  length,  after  nearly  two  months  occupied  in 
struggling  against  opposing  winds,  tides,  and  cur- 
rents, the  missionary  party  had  arrived  within  three 
days'  journey  of  Sadiya,  when  the  force  of  the  cur- 
rent was  so  strong  that  the  boatmen  declared  them- 
selves unable  to  proceed  ;  and  as  the  other  mission- 
ary was  seized  with  the  jungle  fever,  it  was  decided 
that  the  subject  of  our  sketch  should  proceed  at  once 
in  a  small  canoe,  which  the  boatmen  might  be  able 
to  force  against  the  mighty  current,  leaving  the  sick 
man  under  the  care  of  the  two  wives,  that  he  might 
seek  medical  or  other  necessary  assistance  from  the 
missionary  station  now  just  at  hand. 

After  some  two  or  three  days'  struggling  against 
the  force  of  the  current,  the  solitary  missionary  had 
arrived  within  three  hours'  journey  of  the  termi- 
nation of  his  long  and  toilsome  voyage.  He  had 
travelled  in  safety  over  half  the  circumference  of  the 
globe,  his  eye  was  resting  upon  the  spot  selected  as 
the  field  of  his  future  labors,  for  which  he  had  spent 
iong  years  in  preparing,  and  on  which  his  heart 
had  been  set  with  all  the  earnestness  of  intense  de- 
sire, when,  alas  '  in  a  moment,  death  came,  in  an 
unexpected  form,  and  tore  him  from  wife,  and  friends, 
and  the  scene  of  his  expected  toils,  just  as  he  was 
ready  to  set  foot  on  shore,  and  perhaps  counting 
ihe  moments  ere  he  should  grasp  the  hands  of  Chris 


152  ALMOST    THERE. 

tians  and  of  brothers  who  were  waiting  to  welcome 
him  as  a  fellow-iaborer  and  a  fellow-sufferer  to  „heir 
home  in  a  heathen  land. 

The  manner  of  his  death  was  as  singular  as  it  was 
sudden.  The  canoe  was  pushing  briskly  along  against 
the  strong  current  close  to  the  shore,  when  two  trees, 
undermined  by  the  action  of  the  waters,  suddenly  fell 
from  the  bank  across  the  boat,  causing  it  instantly  to 
sink  in  the  shallow  water — the  larger  of  the  trees  ly- 
ing directly  across  the  bowels  of  the  missionary,  thus 
confining  his  body  beneath  the  surface,  and  crushing 
him  almost  instantly  to  death  by  its  weight. 

The  messenger  of  these  sad  tidings  soon  reached 
the  missionary  station  at  Sadiya,  and  a  few  hours~v 
more  saw  one  of  that  devoted  band,  who  had  for  days 
been  straining  their  eyes  to  catch  sight  of  their  ap- 
proaching brethren,  in  a  small  boat  on  his  way 
to  his  humble  abode,  bearing  with  him  the  lifeless 
corpse  of  one  to  whose  coming  they  had  looked 
forward  with  so  much  of  joy  and  so  much  of  hope. 

We  must  draw  a  veil  over  the  agony  of  the  stricken 
wife,  the  grief  of  fellow-laborers,  and  the  sadness  and 
disappointment  of  all.  It  is  enough  to  know  that  the 
Lord  reigneth,  and  to  hear  him  say,  in  reply  to  all  the 
anxious  inquiries  which  unbelief  might  suggest, 
"  Be  still,  and  know  that  I  am  God," — and,  "  What 
I  do  thou  knowest  not  now,  but  thou  shalt  know 
hereafter." 

As  for  the  man  of  God  himself,  he  was  waiting  at 


ALMOST  THERE.  1 5b 

his  post :  and  though  the  summons  came  at  an  unex 
reeled  moment  he  was  prepared  to  meet  it 

"  The  voice  at  midnight  came, — 
He  started  up  to  hear ; 
A  mortal  arrow  pierced  his  frame ; 
He  fell,  but  felt  no  fear." 

Not  a  word  could  escape  his  lips  during  the  fearful 
death-struggle  in  the  waters,  yet  the  very  last  entry 
ir  his  journal  shows  the  posture  of  his  mind.  It  was 
penned  while  sitting,  solitary  and  alone,  in  his  little 
canoe,  on  the  evening  of  the  Sabbath,  the  last  that 
he  spent  on  earth  : 

"July  2d.  This  has  been  rather  a  lonely  day 
Jungles  and  sandbanks,  with  here  and  there  a  soli- 
tary dinghy  passing  down  the  river,  make  up  the 
scenery.  Have  enjoyed  some  sweet  meditations  on 
divine  things.  O  how  sweet  will  be  the  rest  of  that 
eternal  Sabbath,  in  the  enjoyment  of  which  I  shall  be 
eternally  united  with  those  dear  Christian  friends 
with  whom  I  have  formerly  worshipped  in  the  courts 
of  the  Lord  !  O,  my  heavenly  Father,  I  feel  that  T 
am  exceedingly  sinful,  and  unworthy  of  the  least  of 
thy  favors  :  but  do  thou  have  mercy  on  me,  and  ac- 
cept the  renewed  consecration  of  myself  to  thee, 
which  I  now  make.  Employ  me  in  doing  something 
x>  promote  thy  glory  on  earth,  and  let  me  be  eternally 
sngaged  in  thy  service  !" 


154  ALMOST     THERE. 

Should  the  reader  at  any  time  pay  a  visit  to  the 
Hamilton  Literary  and  Theological  Institution  ii 
Madison  county,  New  York,  he  will  see  in  the  room 
of  the  Society  of  Missionary  Inquiry,  among  other 
portraits  of  missionaries  who  have  gone  out  from  this 
school  of  the  prophets,  that  of  the  cherished  subject 
oi  this  sad  but  truthful  sketch. 

Should  he  stroll  into  a  solitary  grove  in  the  imme- 
diate vicinity,  he  may  find  a  beaten  path  to  a  bower 
of  prayer,  and  in  reply  to  his  inquiries  he  will  per- 
haps be  told  that  that  path  was  trodden  by  the  feet, 
and  that  bower  was  formed  by  the  hand  of  the  youth- 
ful missionary  whose  remains  rest  on  the  banks  of 
the  distant  Brahmaputra — the  beloved,  the  devoted, 
the  sainted  Jacob  Thomas. 


I*  COTErnttimL 


BY   HENRY   BACON. 


A  bird  sat  on  a  blooming  bough 

And  filled  the  summer  air  with  songs, 
Till  echo,  'neath  the  tall  cliff's  brow, 

Gave  back  the  notes  with  myriad  tongues; 
While  swifter  ran  the  prattling  brook, 

Ringing  its  silver  bells  along ; 
The  flowers  their  leaflet  caves  forsook, 

And  perfume  'mid  the  music  flung. 
The  skies  were  bright — a  rainbow  bent 

Its  shining  arch  above  the  earth, 
And  in  the  sweets  the  shower  had  lent 

The  hills  and  valley  laughed  in  mirth. 

Why  walked  so  sad  the  Christian  there, 

Apart  from  all  the  beauty  round  ? 
Why  wore  his  brow  the  look  of  care, 

And  deaf  his  ear  to  every  sound  ? 
In  vain  for  him  the  gushing  sono- 

That  waited  on  the  setting  sun ; 
In  vain  the  hills  with  echoes  rung 

In  joy  that  they  had  music  won. 

166 


56  THE    C0NSECRAT1OX. 

His  soul,  untuned,  was  as  the  lyre 
No  cunning  hand  can  wake  to  sing ; 

And  deaf  amid  a  glorious  choir, 

He  stood,  that  eve,  an  exiled  thing. 

Grace  to  his  soul  had  brought  a  truth 

As  glorious  as  a  seraph's  thought ! 
And  freshened  all  his  heart  with  youth 

By  the  experience  it  had  wrought. 
"  Go  and  proclaim  it  /"     Grace  had  said, 

With  her  still  voice,  so  deep  and  calm; 
"  Go  and  proclaim  it!  raise  the  dead, 

And  give  to  broken  hearts  the  balm." 
He  shrunk,  as  cowards  shrink  when  comes 

The  trumpet's  blast  that  calls  to  war, — 
Or  shepherds  flee  to  reach  their  homes 

When  'mid  dark  clouds  the  thunders  roar'. 
N"o  music  from  the  bugle's  thrill, 

No  beauty  in  the  banner's  wave, 
Comes  to  the  soul  when  sleeps  the  will 

That  should  the  front  of  battle  brave. 

Lo !  as  the  sun  will  smile  away 

The  saddest  of  the  lowering  storm, 
And  on  dark  hills  a  beauty  lay 

Where  shadows  lingered  to  deform, 
A  spirit  rose  within  his  soul ! 

A  new  heart  throbbed  within  his  breast ! 
Away  the  clouds  of  sadness  roll 

As  shadows  from  the  ocean's  crest! 


the:  consecration.  157 

"I'm  ready,  Lord,  to  do  thy  Will  ! 

To  brave  the  hottest  fight  for  Truth  ! 
My  soul  with  thy  good  spirit  fill, 

And  let  no  eye  despise  my  youth." 

The  sun  was  gone ;  the  birds  were  still ; 

The  rainbow  was  a  crown  no  more  ; 
More  soft,  but  swifter,  ran  the  rill, 

And  twilight  told  the  day  was  o'er. 
But  'mid  the  gloom  the  stars  beamed  out 

As  good  thoughts  light  the  praying  soul. 
Or  truth  comes  in  to  banish  doubt, 

And  give  to  Grace  the  heart's  control. 
Ah !  never  could  the  day  most  bright 

Pour  in  his  soul  so  great  a  joy, 
As  came,  a  radiant  wing,  that  night 

He  gave  himself  to  Christ's  employ 


SnMan  Missions. 


BY  JOHN  M.  PECK. 


Lo !  the  poor  Indian. 


The  name  Indian,  given  to  the  aborigines  of 
America  by  Columbus,  from  the  supposition  that  he 
had  reached  the  eastern  shore  of  Asia,  is  a  misno 
mer.  Whence  their  origin,  and  by  what  means  they 
reached  the  continent  of  America,  are  questions  yet 
unsolved.  We  differ  wholly  from  Thoroughgood, 
Adair,  Boudinot,  and  other  writers,  who  suopose 
they  are  of  Jewish  descent.  After  much  observation 
and  inquiry  we  have  discerned  no  marks  of  Judaism 
but  what  are  common  to  other  tribes  of  savage,  bar- 
barous, or  semi-civilized  humanity. 

In  language,  religion,  manners,  customs,  figure, 
and  other  characteristics,  the  native  inhabitants  of 
North  America  were  originally  divided  into  four  dis- 
tinct classes  ;  and  these,  again,  subdivided  into  nu- 
merous smaller  confederacies  and  tribes,  differing  each 
from  the  other  in  dialect  or  pronunciation,  and  by 
slight  modifications  of  character. 

The  four  grand  divisions  may  be  arranged  undei 


INDIAN  MISSIONS. 


159 


the  generic  names  of  Esquimaux,  Algonkin,  Dahco- 
tah,  and  Cherokee. 

The  division  is  clearly  defined  in  their  respective 
languages,  and  their  physiology. 

The  Esquimaux  includes  the  nomadic  bands  along 
the  coast  of  Labrador  and  the  Northern  Ocean. 

The  Algonkin,  formerly  the  most  numerous  race, 
has  been  reduced  in  numbers  below  either  of  the 
others. 

In  this  class  were  included  all  the  tribes  of  Canada 
and  New  England,  the  Iroquois,  the  Lenni  Lenopi, 
or  Delawares,  the  various  branches  of  the  great  Pow- 
hattan  confederacy  in  Maryland  and  Virginia,  and  the 
Chouannons,  or  Shawnees,  from  James  River  to 
Florida.  In  the  northwest,  of  the  same  stock  we  find 
the  O'jibways,  Ottawas,  Pottawatamies,  Saukies, 
Miamis,  the  Illinois  confederacy  of  seven  or  eight 
tribes,  and  many  others. 

A.  third  distinct  class  is  found  chiefly  west  of  the 
Mississippi.  The  N'Dahcotah,  or  Sioux,  are  a  type. 
To  this  class  belong  the  Winnebagoes,  Osages,  Kau- 
"-aus,  O'Mahaus,  Ottoes,  Pawnees,  Quappaws,  Io- 
ways,  and  many  other  tribes. 

The  fourth  radical  stock  is  found  in  the  southwest. 
The  Cherokees,  Choctaws,  Muscogees,  or  Creeks, 
Chickasaws,  Natchez,  and  many  other  tribes  were 
vt  this  stock.  These  were  probably  offsets  from  the 
Mexican  or  Atzec  race. 

The  tribes  into  which  these  four  classes  became 


1(50  INDIAN    MISSIONS. 

subdivided  were  found  united  in  confederacies,  with 
a  common  name,  which  was  often  derived  from  the 
Leading  tribe. 

The  most  powerful  and  perfect  confederacy  was 
that  of  the  Iroquois,  or  Five  Nations,  for  they  had 
something  like  a  regular  federal  government.  Their 
external  relations  and  general  interests  were  managed 
by  a  great  council-fire.  In  1712  they  were  joined 
by  the  Tuscaroras  from  North  Carolina,  and  from 
that  time  were  known  as  the  Six  Nations.  They 
were  the  conquerors  of  the  other  Indians  east  of  the 
Mississippi,  and  claimed,  by  virtue  of  conquest,  sove- 
reignty over  the  land,  and  the  exaction  of  tribute,  but 
allowed  the  subjugated  tribes  to  manage  their  own 
affairs. 

The  only  organization  that  deserved  the  name  of 
government,  was  the  grand  confederacy  of  the  Five 
Nations,  and  they  had  no  executive  or  judiciary  de- 
partment. Government  amongst  the  Indians  was 
little  more  than  anarchy,  and  their  legislation  was 
merely  the  result  of  councils,  and  had  no  greater  in- 
fluence over  the  people  than  advice. 

The  condition  of  human  nature,  unimproved  by 
civilization,  unblest  with  the  influences  of  the  Gos 
pel  of  Christ,  is  pitiable  in  the  extreme.  Such  was 
the  character  of  the  "  red-skin"  before  his  country 
was  visited  by  the  "pale-faces."  We  have  often 
seen  the  aboriginal  man  of  America  in  all  his  prime- 
val wildness,  when  he  first  came  in  contact  with  the 


INDIAN  MISSIONS.  1.61 

evils  and  benefits  of  civilization — have  gazed  on  his 
noble  form,  admired  his  lofty  bearing,  listened  to  his 
untutored  yet  powerful  eloquence,  but  have  found  in 
him  the  same  humbling  proofs  of  depravity,  wretch- 
edness, and  want,  as  are  still  manifested  by  the  rem- 
nant on  our  western  borders.  The  introduction  of 
ardent  spirits,  and  that  terrible  disease,  the  variolus, 
are  the  evils  we  have  furnished  the  Indian  race, 
while  in  all  other  respects  their  condition  has  been 
improved  by  intercourse  with  us. 

The  Indians  generally  believe  in  a  Great  Spirit,  or 
rather  Being,  for  their  notions  of  spiritual  existence, 
Creation  and  a  Creator,  are  extremely  vague.  They 
believe  in  numerous  other  beings  who  have  an  agen- 
cy in  human  affairs,  and  to  whom  they  make  offer- 
ings. All  believe  in  a  future  state  of  rewards  and 
punishments,  though  their  ideas  are  gross  and  carnal. 
The  religious  notions  of  different  nations,  and  conse- 
quently their  forms  of  worship,  vary.  The  Algonkin 
race  worshipped  both  a  good  and  an  evil  Spirit,  be- 
sides a  multitude  of  subordinate  or  inferior  spirits, 
good  and  bad.  Some  nations  were  idolaters.  The 
Natchez  worshipped  the  sun,  and  kept  the  fire  per- 
petually burning  in  their  rude  temples.  Their  male 
and  female  priests  were  called  in  their  language  suns 
and  suneses.  We  have  had  ocular  demonstration 
that  some  of  the  Indians  actually  worshipped  images, 
in  examining  the  differently  shaped  idols  that  were 
undoubtedly  worshipped  by  the  southern  Indians, 


162  INDIAN    MISSIONS. 

The  great  Pawnees  formerly  worshipped  the  planet 
Venus,  under  the  name  of  the  "  Great  Star,"  as  their 
chief  gof'.  to  which  they  offered  human  sacrifices. 
In  1818,  we  saw  a  Spanish  boy  that  had  been  taken 
captive  and  devoted  to  sacrifice.  He  was  ransomed 
by  the  late  M.  Lisa  of  St.  Louis,  taken  there  and  ed- 
ucated. 

A  belief  in  witchcraft,  dreams,  charms,  and  "  med- 
icine-men," was  common  to  all  the  tribes  of  the  con- 
tinent. Theirs  was  the  religion  of  nature,  that  fur- 
nished them  no  guide  in  the  pathway  of  life,  cast  no 
light  on  the  "  Spirit-land." 

In  reference  to  Indian  Missions,  we  omit  all  that 
may  be  said  of  the  Jesuit  and  other  Roman  Catholic 
missions,  as  quite  the  reverse  of  the  principles  of 
evangelism,  taught  in  the  Holy  Scriptures.  The 
pioneer  in  efforts  to  evangelize  the  North  American 
Indians  was  John  Elliot.  This  benevolent  minis- 
ter of  Christ,  while  pastor  of  a  Congregational  church 
in  Roxbury,  Massachusetts,  learned  the  Moheagan 
language,  and  commenced  his  labors  in  1646,  at  an 
Indian  settlement  called  Natick,  now  Newton.  He 
soon  induced  the  Indians  to  form  a  village,  adopt 
simple  but  written  laws,  learn  to  read,  and  cultivate 
the  earth.  He  preached  and  taught  them  from  house 
to  house,  and  finally  translated  the  whole  Bible  into 
the  Mohekannuk  language. 

In  1642,  the  family  of  the  Mayhews  commenced  a 
wussion  to  the  Indians  on  Martha's  Vineyard,  an  island 


INDIAN  MISSIONS.  163 

dff  the  coast  of  Massachusetts,  and  Hiacoomes,  a  pow- 
erful chief,  was  converted.  In  1674,  in  this  mission, 
there  were  about  fifteen  hundred  praying  Indians,  ten 
native  preachers,  and  six  places  for  public  worship 
on  each  Lord's  day.  On  Nantucket,  a  church  was 
formed  of  thirty  members  in  communion,  and  about 
two  hundred  families  received  instruction.  Of  the 
Mayhew  family,  father,  son,  and  grandson,  officiated 
in  succession  as  missionaries  to  the  Indians. 

In  the  Plymouth  colony,  Rev.  Mr.  Bourne  and 
others  labored  amongst  the  natives  with  success,  and 
in  1674,  about  five  hundred  had  been  instructed  in 
the  Christian  faith,  in  twenty  different  places  ;  one 
hundred  and  forty-two  could  read  in  their  own  lan- 
guage, and  seventy-two  could  write.  Rev.  John 
Cotton,  pastor  of  an  English  church  at  Plymouth, 
learned  the  Indian  language  and  preached  each  week 
to  five  Indian  congregations,  who,  on  the  Sabbath, 
had  native  preachers. 

A  tribe  called  the  River  Indians  were  settled  on 
the  Housatonack,  in  Stockbridge,  to  whom  Rev.  John 
Sergeant  ministered  in  1734.  He  soon  gathered  a 
congregation  and  opened  a  school.  He  was  sustain- 
ed in  his  benevolent  labors  by  the  celebrated  Mr. 
Hollis,  a  wealthy  Baptist  in  London.  He  died  in 
the  midst  of  his  labors  and  usefulness,  in  1749,  aged 
thirty-nine  years.  In  1751,  the  celebrated  Jonathan 
Edwards  took  charge  of  this  mission,  where  he  con- 
tinued  about   six  years.     During  the  war  between 


164  INDIAN    MISSIONS. 

threat  Britain  and  the  colonies  on  the  one  part,  and 
France  and  the  Canada  Indians  on  the  other,  from 
1755  to  1763,  this  mission,  as  all  Indian  missions 
have  been  in  war,  was  much  injured.  The  Stock- 
bridge  and  the  Mohawk  Indians  fought  on  the  side 
of  the  colonies,  many  were  killed  and  others  scat- 
tered abroad.  Eventually  they  removed  to  Oneida 
county,  in  the  state  of  New  York,  and  established 
a  village  called  New  Stockbridge.  In  1796,  they 
numbered  about  three  hundred,  all  nominal  Chris- 
tians, and  about  thirty  church  members.  We  can 
trace  this  little  band  in  their  migrations  to  the  vicinity 
of  Green  Bay,  in  the  Wisconsin  territory,  and  from 
thence  more  recently  to  the  Indian  territory  west  of 
Missouri,  where  they  still  diffuse  the  light  of  the 
Gospel  and  the  blessings  of  civilization  among  their 
rude  and  less  cultivated  neighbors. 

Amongst  the  Narragansetts,  in  Rhode  Island,  in 
1733,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Parks  commenced  preaching. 
His  labors  and  those  of  others  were  successful,  and 
in  1743  there  was  a  revival  of  religion,  many  were 
converted,  about  sixty  joined  the  church,  and  several 
native  preachers  were  raised  up.  The  most  noted 
of  these  was  Sampson  Occum,  who  was  educated  at 
college,  went  to  England  and  preached  before  the 
king  and  parliament,  and  finally  settled  at  Brotherton, 
New  York,  as  pastor  over  the  Indian  congregation, 
and  died  in  1795. 

A  faithful  native   preacher,  who  for   many  years 


INDIAN  MISSIONS.  V65 

successfully  preached  the  Gospel  to  his  tribe  the 
Shinnecock  Indians  of  Long  Island,  deserves  honor- 
able mention.  He  died  in  the  year  1812,  and  was 
buried  at  Canoe-place,  Long  Island,  where  the  pass- 
ing traveller  may  read  the  following  tribute  to  his 
worth  on  a  marble  slab,  near  the  roadside,  where  the 
meeting-house  then  stood : 

ERECTED 

BY 

THE  NEW  YORK  MISSIONARY  SOCIETY, 

IN  MEMORY  OF 

THE  REV.   PAUL  CUFFEE, 

AN  INDIAN  OF  THE  SHINNECOCK  TRIBE, 

WHO  WAS  EMPLOYED  BY  THAT  SOCIETY,  FOR 

THE  LAST  THIRTEEN  YEARS  OF  HIS  LIFE, 

ON  THE  EASTERN  PART  OF  LONG  ISLAND,  WHERB 

HE   LABORED   WITH   FIDELITY  AND  SUCCESS. 

HUMBLE,  PIOUS,  AND  INDEFATIGABLE 

IN  TESTIFYING  THE  GOSPEL  OF  THE  GRACE  OF  GOD, 

HE  FINISHED  HIS  COURSE  WITH  JOY, 

ON  THE 

7th  day  of  march,  1812, 
aged  55  years  and  three  days. 

The  younger  brother  of  Paul  Cuffee,  Obadiah,  is 
still  livirg  among  the  remnants  of  his  tribe,  in  his 
eighty-second  year,  but  smart,  tall,  and  yet  with  all 
the  activity  and  vigor  of  a  man  of  fifty.  He  is  uni- 
versally called  Deacon  Oby,  and  is  regarded  as  the 
patriarch  of  his  tribe. 

The  pious  and  devoted  labors  of  David  Brainard 


163  INDIAN    MISSIONS. 

amongst  the  Indians  at  Croswicks,  New  Jersey  arid 
at  the  forks  of  the  Delaware  river,  are  doubtless  fa- 
miliar to  our  readers.  A  precious  revival  attended 
nis  labors,  and  a  church  of  thirty  converts  was  or- 
ganized. Brainard's  converts  generally  lived  and 
died  pious  Christians. 

The  society  denominated  Moravians,  or,  as  they 
style  themselves,  "  United  Brethren,"  have  had  suc- 
cessful missions  amongst  the  Indians.  In  1734, 
Christian  Rauch  commenced  a  mission  at  Shekom- 
eko,  now  Amenia,  in  Dutchess  county,  New  York, 
where  he  formed  a  village,  established  a  school,  in- 
troduced habits  of  civilization,  and  preached  the  Gos- 
pel. The  Dutch  magistrates  becoming  alarmed, 
drove  him  off,  and-  broke  up  the  mission.  Bethle- 
hem, a  Moravian  town  in  Pennsylvania,  was  estab- 
lished about  this  period,  and  an  Indian  mission  soon 
after  commenced  about  thirty  miles  up  the  Lehigh, 
called  Gnadenhutten,  or  "  Tents  of  Grace."  In  a 
little  time  about  five  hundred  were  under  religious 
instruction. 

The  war  with  the  French  and  Indians  in  Canada, 
made  sad  work  with  Indian  missions.  In  November, 
1755,  a  party  of  Indians  in  the  Fiench  interest,  at- 
tacked the  mission  while  the  family  were  at  supper, 
massacred  eleven  men,  women,  and  children,  and 
dispersed  the  rest.  Again,  eight  years  after,,  the 
settlement  was  broken  up  by  pagan  Indians.  We 
can   now  trace  this  band  of  Christian  Indians,  who 


INDIAN  MISSIONS.  167 

aad  been  taught  by  their  pious  instructors  that  all 
war  was  wrong,  to  the  head  branches  of  the  Susque- 
hanna, next  to  Beaver  river,  where  Friedenstadt,  or 
the  "  Village  of  Peace,"  was  built.  Driven  from 
thence,  their  next  pitch  was  near  the  Muskingum,  in 
Ohio,  where  three  settlements,  Shcenbrun,  Gnaden- 
hutten,  and  Litchtenau,  were  a  temporary  asylum  for 
about  five  hundred  Christian  Indians.  The  mission 
ary,  Zeisberger,  distinguished  in  the  annals  of  Mo- 
ravian missions,  was  their  spiritual  father  and  guide 
in  their  pilgrimages  and  sufferings.  His  disciples 
were  of  the  Lenni  Lenopi  race,  and  under  his  minis- 
trations were  humble,  peaceable,  industrious,  and  had 
lost  all  propensity  for  war,  yet  no  people  ever  suffer- 
ed more  severely  its  ravages.  Their  religious  prin- 
ciples allowed  them  to  take  no  part  in  the  war  of  the 
American  revolution,  hence  they  incurred  the  suspi- 
cions of  both  the  British  and  Americans.  Wicked 
Indians  would  commit  depredations  on  both  sides, 
and  lay  the  mischief  to  these  peace-loving  Moravians. 
On  one  occasion,  the  British  -commander  at  Detroit 
removed  them  by  force  to  the  confines  of  Canada. 
During  their  absence  their  vom  was  stolen,  and  they 
suffered  much  distress  from  want. 

In  March,  1782,  they  were  found  at  their  village.* 
on  the  Muskingum,  when  they  were  attacked  by  •« 
band  of  unprincipled  men,  gathered  for  the  purpose 
from  western  Pennsylvania  and  Virginia,  and  a  dread 
ful  massacre  ensued.     It  was  reported  that  they  ha; 


168  INDIAN    MISSIONS. 

bored  and  aided  hostile  Indians.  But  when  preju- 
dice and  passion  usurp  the  place  of  reason  and  con 
science,  man  becomes  ungovernable.  A  party  of 
volunteers,  of  about  one  hundred  in  number,  headed 
bv  Colonel  Williamson,  penetrated  the  wilderness 
with  the  desperate  determination  to  destroy  these 
settlements.  The  peaceful  and  unsuspecting  Chris- 
tians were  gathering  their  corn  ;  the  white  ruffians  pre- 
tended friendship,  promised  them  protection,  and  gave 
assurances  that  they  had  come  to  take  them  to  Pitts- 
burgh and  place  them  under  protection  of  the  Ameri- 
can government.  With  these  assurances  the  Indians 
gave  up  their  hunting-guns,  hatchets,  and  property. 
Colonel  Williamson  then  called  his  men  to  a  parley, 
and  put  it  to  vote  whether  they  should  be  killed  or 
taken  to  Pittsburgh  as  prisoners.  Only  sixteen  votes 
were  given  to  spare  their  lives  !  They  were  then 
told  that  as  they  were  Christian  Indians,  they  might 
spend  the  night  in  prayer.  They  were  then  shut  up 
in  two  houses — the  men  in  the  one,  and  the  women 
and  children  in  the  other.  Here  they  prayed,  sung, 
and  exhorted,  and  comforted  each  other  with  the 
promises  of  God  and  the  prospects  of  eternal  glory 
in  the  morning.  About  sunrise  the  slaughter  began 
with  tomahawks  and  hatchets.  One  infamous  wretch 
boasted  he  had  killed  fourteen,  and  that  his  arm  had 
become  so  wearied  he  could  work  no  longer  !  Two 
lads  escaped  the  massacre  ;  one  by  crawling  under 
ihe   floor,  where  the  blood  of  his  friends   streamed 


INDIAN    MISSIONS.  169 

down  upon  him,  the  other  by  escaping  to  the  woods. 
About  ninety-five  Christians  fell  a  sacrifice  in  this 
most  horrible  massacre.  Their  bones  were  left  to 
bleach  in  the  wilderness,  till  some  twenty  years  after 
they  were  gathered  up  and  buried. 

We  were  well  acquainted  in  Missouri,  some  years 
since,  with  an  old  man  who  was  one  of  the  murder- 
ers of  these  Christians,  though  he  claimed  that  he 
voted  to  spare  their  lives,  and  that  he  "  had  no  heart 
to  strike  more  than  once."  He  then  professed  re- 
ligion, and  gave  some  evidence  of  discipleship,  yet 
we  had  no  heart  to  converse  with  him  about  this  in- 
famous business.  We  understood  from  ins  menus 
that  the  impression  of  the  inhuman  deed  never  left 
his  mind. 

The  village  of  Shcenbrun  escaped,  and  the  inhabit- 
ants fled  to  Sandusky.  Afterwards  they  removed  to 
the  river  Thames  in  Canada,  received  the  protection 
of  the  British  government,  and  built  the  town  of 
Fairfield,  where  their  descendants  still  remain. 

The  space  allowed  will  permit  us  barely  to  glance 
at  modern  Indian  missions,  the  most  prosperous  of 
which  has  been  amongst  the  Cherokees.  About  fifty 
years  since,  Presbyterians,  Baptists,  and  Methodists 
projected  missions  to  this  people,  and  some  incipient 
measures  were  taken  by  the  late  Gideon  Blackburn, 
D.  D.,  then  a  resident  of  Tennessee.  In  1808  the 
Cherokee  nation  organized  a  form  of  government, 
had  a  legislature,  and  expressed  a  desire  for  schools 


170  INDIAN    MISSIONS. 

Regular  missionary  labors  were  commenced  in  the 
Cherokee  country  in  1817,  by  the  Rev.  Messrs. 
Kingsbury,  Hall,  and  Williams.  A  school  was  open- 
ed, and  the  Gospel  preached  to  them  by  means  of  an 
interpreter.  These  measures  were  followed  up  with 
success  ;  some  were  converted,  and  next  year  a 
church  was  organized. 

One  of  the  most  extraordinary  events  in  the  history 
of  mind  and  literature,  occurred  amongst  the  Chero- 
kees  in  1825.  This  was  the  invention  of  an  alphabet 
by  George  Guess,  a  full-blooded  and  wholly  uned- 
ucated Cherokee.  Hearing  some  of  his  countrymen 
speak  of  the  superiority  of  the  white  people  in  ma- 
king "  the  paper  talk,"  and  by  which,  when  they  had 
put  down  a  talk  it  would  stay  there,  and  could  be 
carried  to  a  great  distance,  he  took  a  rlat  stone  and 
attempted  to  make  a  particular  mark  for  every  word. 
The  Indians  laughed  at  him  ;  but  he  would  go  to  the 
woods,  under  pretence  of  hunting,  and  there  make 
his  marks  from  day  to  day.  The  number  of  marks 
soon  overburdened  his  memory,  when  the  thought 
occurred  to  him  to  contrive  a  mark  for  eacli  sound. 
Every  syllable  in  the  Cherokee  language  is  either  a 
simple  vowel  sound,  or  a  vowel  preceded  by  a  con- 
sonant. There  are  six  vowels  and  twelve  conso- 
nants, simple  and  compound.  Consequently,  from 
combinations,  the  syllables  will  be  seventy-two.  By 
modifications  a  few  other  syllables  are  produced, 
makmg  the  whole  number  eighty-five      For  each  of 


INDIAN  MISSIONS.  17l 

these  sounds  lie  invented  a  character  or  mark.  Thus 
he  produced  a  perfect  phonic  alphabet.  Hance,  as 
soon  as  a  Cherokee  learns  to  pronounce  the  names  of 
the  characters  that  represent  the  sounds  in  his  language, 
he  is  a  perfect  reader.  When  Guess,  who  had  borne 
all  the  ridicule  of  his  friends  with  the  most  unwearied 
patience,  produced  his  alphabet  and  read,  the  people 
were  astonished. 

Finding  he  could  make  the  paper  talk  as  well  as 
white  people,  numbers  came  to  him  for  instruction, 
and  thousands  have  since  learned  to  read. 

This  principle  of  phonic  alphabet  has  been  ap- 
plied to  other  Indian  languages ;  and  school-books, 
hymns,  the  Scriptures,  and  periodicals  have  been 
publijhed,  and  are  read  by  great  numbers  of  the  red- 
men  of  the  forests  and  prairies. 

On  our  table  lies  the  Cherokee  Advocate,  a  news- 
paper, respectable  in  size  and  appearance,  and  con- 
taining the  usual  matter  of  our  own  hebdomadals.  In 
one  column  we  see  a  chapter  from  that  inimitable  al 
legory,  the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  now  in  process  of 
translation  into  Cherokee. 

The  Cherokees,  Choctaws,  Chickasaws,  and 
Creeks,  have  made  rapid  progress  in  civilization  and 
in  the  knowledge  of  the  Christian  religion.  In  their 
new  location  in  the  Indian  territory,  lying  to  the  west 
of  the  states  of  Missouri  and  Arkansas,  they  are  fast 
becoming  a  fixed  and  an  agricultural  people.  The 
influences   of  the  Gospel  have  been  signally  mani- 


172  INDIAN    MISSIONS. 

fested  ia  transformation  of  character  aiu,  habits  of 
life.    . 

The  great  question  has  been  solved,  that  the  In- 
dian  race  can  be  civilized,  converted,  and  saved. 
Thousands  of  pious,  devoted,  consistent  Christians 
of  that  people, — hitherto  "scattered  and  peeled," — 
now  stand  up  in  the  Indian  country  to  attest  the 
power  and  triumph  of  the  Gospel. 

The  territory  west  of  Missouri  and  Arkansas,  that 
has  been  set  apart  by  government  as  a  permanent 
residence  for  the  Indian  race,  is  well  adapted  to  their 
circumstances  and  wants.  It  is  about  six  hundred 
miles  in  length  from  north  to  south,  and  for  two  hun- 
dred miles  west  has  an  abundant  supply  of  rich,  ara- 
ble land,  admirably  adapted  to  raising  cattle,  horses, 
and  swine  ;  well  watered  and  healthy. 

Besides  Shawnees,  Delawares,  Pottawatamies, 
Saukies,  Miamis,  and  the  remnants  of  the  Illinois 
nation,  together  with  the  Osages,  Kauzaus,  and  other 
tribes  who  are  indigenous  to  that  country,  the  follow- 
ing tabular  statement  of  the  southern  immigrant  In- 
dians is  given  from  the  returns  of  last  year  to  the  In- 
dian Department  of  government : 

Cherokees,  ....     26,000 

Choctaws,  .         .         .         .12,410 

Chickasaws,       .         .         .         .       4,111 
Creeks,  ....     24,594 

The  whole  number  who  have  emigrated  west  ol 
the  Mississippi,  under  authority  of  the  government 


INDIAN  MISSIONS.  173 

amount  to  eighty-nine  thousand  three  hundred  and 
forty-eight.  About  thirty  thousand  still  remain  in 
the  states  east  of  the  Mississippi. 

East  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  are  to  be  found 
about  one  hundred  and  sixty-eight  thousand.  These 
with  the  tribes  in  Oregon  and  Texas,  claim  the  be 
nevolent  attentions  of  the  friends  of  missions.  With- 
out the  Gospel  they  must  perish.  It  is  the  direct 
influence  of  the  Gospel  alone  that  can  arouse  up  the 
poor  Indian  from  the  stupor  of  ignorance  and  sensu- 
ality, and  bring  him  into  the  light  and  glorious  liberty 
of  the  sons  of  God. 


Wi)t  0J)tp. 

BY   WILLIAM    W.   LORD. 

Whither,  ye  winged  creatures 

That  fill  the  ocean's  side, 
With  your  white  wings  on  the  wind, 
And  your  broad  breasts  to  the  tide, 
Oh  whither  do  ye  flee  ? 
Where  do  the  winds  that  blow — 
Why  do  the  light  winds  bear 
O'er  the  flowing  tides  below 
These  things  of  sea  and  air, 
These  white  clouds  of  the  sea  ? 

Ve  giants  that  o'erthreaten 

The  heaving,  restless  plain, 
With  your  triple  ranks  of  iron, 
Ye  warriors  of  the  Main  ; 

Why  o'er  the  billows  free, 
Ye  things  of  sea  and  air, 
Why  do  the  tempests  bear 
Your  dark  sides  through  the  foam, 
Oh  whither  do  ye  roam, 
Thunder-clouds  of  the  sea? 


THE   SHIP.  17i 

From  the  ocean  isles  defenceless, 

From  the  rampire-shielded  nation, 
From  storm'd  and  blacken'd  cities, 
The  sound  of  desolation  ; 

And  a  deep  wail  from  the  sea, 
Where  the  goodly  ships  went  under 
When  your  hundred-bolted  thunder 
To  the  seamen's  sinking  cry 
Made  the  echoes  from  the  sky 
Tell  your  victory  ! 

Whither,  you  ships  of  treasure, 

Move  ye,  so  richly  laden, 
Each  like  a  fair  and  stately 
Veil'd,  bejewelFd  maiden  ? 
Why  on  the  billows  free, 
Ye  winds  that  ever  blow, 
And  whither  do  ye  bear 
O'er  the  flowing  tides  below, 
These  things  of  sea  and  air, 
These  ladies  of  the  sea  ? 

From  houses  silken,  delicate, 

Where  the  banquet-guests  sit  long, 
And  drunken  with  the  golden  wine 
Of  music  move  the  throne, 
A  sound  of  impious  glee  ; 
And  the  heavy  sound  of  wo 
From  workshops,  where  the  slow 


176  THE    SHIP. 

Incessam  strokes  of  Toil 
Make  nature  Cunning's  spoil, 
Sell  life  for  luxury. 

But  ye  whose  white  wings  bear 

Through  storms  a  Sabbath-calm, 
Who  make  the  silent  ocean  hear 
The  voice  of  prayer  and  psalm, 
Oh  whither  do  ye  flee  ? 
Where  do  the  winds  that  blow-* 
Why  do  the  light  winds  bear 
O'er  the  flowing  tides  below, 
These  things  of  sea  and  air, 
These  angels  of  the  sea  ? 

From  mainland  and  from  island, 

Wild  alps,  and  groves  of  palm, 
Dark  woods,  and  ancient  temples, 
A  voice  of  prayer  and  psalm, 
The  sound  of  jubilee  ; 
And  on  mountain  and  on  plain, 
Rise  the  sleepers,  rise  the  slain. 
And  their  coral  shouts  ascend, 
And  Earth  and  Heaven  blend 
Hymns  of  victory  ! 


®t)e  ®*mu0  of  tUar  as  rcntrasteu  tmtl)  tijat  of 
(fljristianiti). 

BY  J.   LAWRENCE  DE  GRAW. 

"  The  proud  victor's  plume, 
The  hero's  trophied  fame,  the  warrior's  wreath 
Of  blood-dash'd  laurel— what  will  these  avail 
The  spirit  parting  from  material  things  ? 
One  slender  leaflet  from  the  tree  of  peace, 
Borne,  dove-like,  o'er  the  waste  and  warring  earth, 
Is  better  passport  at  the  gate  of  Heaven." 

Mrs  Sigournet. 

The  disastrous  consequences  of  war  have  not  of 
late  years  been  witnessed  in  our  land.  Afthough  we 
have  not  ourselves  seen  contending  hosts  engaged 
in  mortal  strife,  nor  looked  upon  burning  cities, 
nor  heard  the  ieath-shriek  of  the  fallen,  and  the 
agonizing  groan  of  the  dying,  mingled  with  shouts 
of  triumph,  the  roar  of  artillery,  and  the  clash  of 
arms  ;  we  yet  remember  the  stories  told  us  by  our 
fathers,  of  the  "  times  which  tried  men's  souls." 
May  the  scenes  of  those  times  never  be  re-enacted. 
May  the  prayers  of  Christians  ascend  to  Him  who 
rules  in  the  heavens  and  among  the  inhabitants  of 
the  earth,  that  the  dreadful  scourge  may  continue  to 
be  averted  from  our  own  beloved  country,  and  other 


i78  THE    GENIUS    OF    WAR. 

nations  engaged  in  fulfilling  the  great  commission^ 
bv  proclaiming  the  glad  tidings  of  salvation  through- 
out the  earth  ; — whose  devoted  missionaries  have  pen- 
etrated the  snows  of  the  north,  and  the  sands  of  the 
south — who  have  braved  the  winds  and  the  waves 
to  plant  the  Gospel  banner  upon  the  isles  of  the 
ocean.  War  !  who  can  portray  its  dreadful  aspects, — 
the  miseries  entailed  upon  the  human  race  by 
those  who  have  panted  for  fame  and  glory,  who  in 
their  eager  pursuit  of  these  phantoms  have  tramp- 
led in  the  dust  all  that  was  beautiful,  lovely,  and 
of  good  report — the  high  attributes  of  that  word 
and  law  of  the  Most  High,  which  inculcates  peace 
on  earth,  good-will  to  man?  Hear  the  commander 
of  the  "  Army  of  Italy,"  when  overlooking  the  beau- 
tiful vales  of  Piedmont  from  the  neighboring  heights. 
"  Soldiers*you  are  hungry  and  naked.  The  repub- 
lic owes  you  much,  but  she  has  not  the  means  to  ac- 
quit herself  of  her  debts.  The  patience  with  which 
you  support  your  hardships  among  these  barren  rocks 
is  admirable,  but  it  cannot  procure  you  glory.  I  have 
come  to  lead  you  into  the  most  fertile  plains  that  the 
sun  beholds.  Rich  provinces,  opulent  towns,  all 
shall  be  at  your  disposal.  Soldiers,  with  such  a 
prospect  before  you,  can  you  fail  in  courage  and  con- 
stancy?" This,  it  has  justly  been  observed,  was 
showing  the  deer  to  the  hound  when  the  leash  is  about 
to  be  slipped. 

The  arch  enemy  of  mankind  who  fought  with  his 


THE  GENIUS  OF  WAR.  l?y 

hosts,  when  there  was  war  in  heaven,  against  Michae] 
and  the  angels,  doubtless  holds  a  jubilee,  unseen  bv 
mortal  eyes,  upon  each  field  of  carnage  ;  while  the 
legions  of  Pandemonium  revel  amid  the  pride,  and 
pomp,  and  circumstance  of  glorious  war. 

Switzerland,  with  her  beautiful  lakes  and  towering 
Alps,  has  been  the  battle-field  of  Europe.  Of 
what  avail  have  the  rocks  and  snow-capped  moun- 
tains which  hem  in  her  fertile  valleys  been,  in 
arresting  the  progress  of  armed  hosts  through  suc- 
ceeding ages,  from  the  time  when  Attila,  the  scourge 
of  the  north,  burst  upon  Europe  with  his  five  hun- 
dred thousand  Huns,  like  an  avalanche,  spreading 
destruction  on  all  sides  and  leaving  desolation  in  his 
track  as  he  passed  ?  Her  rocky  defiles  have  echoed 
to  the  tread  of  the  barbarian  of  the  north,  of  the 
wild  hordes  of  the  east,  and,  in  later  times,  to  that 
of  the  chivalry  of  Europe.  The  thunder  of  artillery 
and  the  deep  sullen  roar  of  the  avalanche  have  min- 
gled together.  Banner  and  plume  have  waved  in  the 
mountain  breeze,  while  casque  and  helmet,  and  blade 
and  bayonet,  glittered  in  the  morning  sun.  The  beau- 
tiful lake  of  Lucerne  and  its  valley  might  also  tell 
many  a  thrilling  tale  of  outrage  and  horror,  inflicted 
upon  the  peaceful  and  defenceless  inhabitants  by  the 
cupidity  and  unquenchable  ambition  of  the  French 
invader.  And  what  reward  awaited  many  of  those 
who  stood  foremost  in  the  ranks  of  the  despoiler  ? 
Let  the  following  facts  supply  the  answer. 


180  THE    GENIUS    OF     WAR 

Marshal  Ney  stood  erect,  facing  the  platoon  ol 
soldiers  drawn  up  for  his  execution.  With  his  hand 
placed  upon  his  heart,  he  exclaimed,  "  My  comrades, 
fire  on  me  !"  He  fell,  pierced  by  ten  balls.  His 
sword  had  often  waved  amid  the  thickest  of  the 
fight.  He  had  faced  death  a  thousand  times,  whilst 
leading  his  columns  to  face  the  cannon's  mouth,  or 
to  mount  the  deadly  breach.  He  had  charged  the 
hosts  of  Waterloo ;  but  now  the  last  enemy,  Death, 
had  triumphed  over  him,  and  the  muffled  drum 
sounded  his  requiem.  Murat — the  gay,  but  harden- 
ed and  daring  Murat,  was  seized  whilst  exciting  a  re- 
volt at  Naples ;  tried  and  executed  under  a  law  he 
had  himself  introduced  when  the  crown  encircled 
his  brow. 

In  the  month  of  January,  1824,  Felix  NefT,  the 
missionary  of  the  High  Alps,  arrived  at  the  hamlet 
of  Arvieux,  in  the  Val  Queyras.  The  department 
of  the  High  Alps  is  that  portion  of  the  great  moun- 
tain chain  which  divides  France  from  Italy.  Two 
lofty  peaks  are  embraced  in  this  division,  mount  Ge- 
nevre  in  the  north,  and  mount  Viso,  one  of  the  most 
conspicuous  in  Europe,  in  the  south.  "  Looking 
from  the  city  of  Gap  towards  Viso  and  Genevre," 
writes  one  familiar  with  the  scene,  "  you  see  nothing 
but  successive  ridges  of  peaks,  covered  in  summer 
with  masses  of  brownish  rock,  and  in  winter  with 
snow  and  ice.  As  thus  seen,  it  seems  wholly  im- 
passable to  human  footsteps,  much  less  inhabited  by 


THE  GENIUS  OF  WAR.  181 

mankind.  But  in  these  mountain  gorges,  the  neces 
sities  of  men,  and  especially  cruel  persecutions,  have 
compelled  them  to  find  habitations  on  such  spots  as 
could  be  made  capable  of  furnishing  even  a  scanty 
and  miserable  subsistence."  In  these  mountain  re- 
treats, many  who  were  persecuted  for  the  Truth's 
sake  found  an  asylum,  from  the  days  of  Marcus  Au- 
relius  to  those  of  Louis  XV.  It  was  here  and  in  the 
valleys  of  Piedmont,  that  the  Waldenses  for  fifteen 
centuries  maintained  in  its  integrity  the  true  faith. 
That  martyr-people,  after  having  suffered  three  cen- 
turies of  violent  persecution,  endured  three  more  of 
wars,  in  which  the  dukes  of  Savoy  and  the  kings  of 
France,  at  the  bidding  of  the  Pope,  hunted  them  as 
the  sportsman  would  the  wild  beasts.  NefT's  field 
of  labor  extended  thirty-five  miles  north,  and  twenty 
south,  embracing  the  Val  Queyras  on  the  east,  con- 
necting with  the  valleys  of  Piedmont  by  the  pass,  or 
in  fact  the  chasm  of  the  Col  de  la  Croix  and  the  Val 
Fressiniere  on  the  west,  including  in  all  about  eigh- 
teen villages  or  hamlets.  What  a  parish  to  superin- 
tend !  What  ardor  of  zeal,  as  well  as  strength  of  phys- 
ical constitution,  was  needed  to  carry  a  pastor  through 
the  toils  necessary  to  the  faithful  oversight  of  the  flock 
dispersed  through  such  a  frightful  region  !  We  have 
been  familiar  with  mountain  scenes  from  our  childhood, 
continues  our  writer ;  we  have  wandered  too,  amid  the 
Alps,  both  in  Piedmont  and  in  Savoy.  We  have  found 
among  the  iofty  ranges,  in  many  places,  very  sweet 


182 


THE    GENIUS    OF    WAR. 


valleys,  clothed  with  green  meadows  and  yellow  fields 
of  grain ;  whilst  pleasant  villages  and  hamlets  marked 
them  as  isolated,  but  very  agreeable,  abodes  of  men. 
Herds  of  cattle  roaming  in  the  rich  pasturages,  and 
innumerable  flocks  of  sheep  and  goats  browsing  upon 
the  mountain  sides,  and  skipping  from  rock  to  rock, 
give  an  animated  picture  of  enjoyment. 

But  widely  different  is  the  scene  in  the  High 
Alps,  in  Val  Queyras  and  Val  Fressiniere.  There, 
on  the  contrary,  the  valleys  are  for  the  most  part 
dark  and  sterile.  Alp  rises  upon  Alp,  and  masses 
of  rock  of  appalling  aspect,  piled  up  as  it  were 
to  the  skies,  block  up  many  of  the  defiles,  and 
forbid  further  advancey  even  to  the  boldest  adven- 
turer. "  There,"  says  Mr.  Gilly,  in  his  memoirs 
of  Neff,  "  the  tottering  cliffs,  the  sombre  and  frown- 
ing rocks, — which  from  their  fatiguing  continuity 
look  like  a  mournful  veil,  which  is  never  to  be 
raised, — the  tremendous  abysses,  and  the  comfortless 
cottages,  and  the  ever-present  dangers  from  ava- 
lanches, and  thick  mists  and  clouds,  proclaim  that 
this  is  a  land  which  man  never  would  have  chosen,  even 
for  his  hiding-place,  but  from  the  direst  necessity." 
In  the  whole  range  of  Alpine  scenery,  rich  as  it  is  in 
the  wonders  of  nature,  there  is  nothing  more  terrific 
than  the  pass  from  the  Guil.  For  several  miles  the 
waters  of  the  torrent  occupy  the  whole  breadth  of 
the  defile,  which  is  a  vast  rent  in  the  mountain  ;  and 
Vhe  path,  which  in  places  will  not  admit  more  than 


THE  GENIUS   DF  WAR.  183 

two  to  walk  side  by  side,  is  hewn  out  of  the  rocks. 
These  rise  to  such  a  giddy  height,  that  the  soaring 
pinnacles  which  crown  them  look  like  the  fine  points 
of  masonry-work  on  the  summit  of  a  cathedral, — 
while  the  projecting  masses  that  overhang  the  way- 
faring-man's head  are  more  stupendous  and  mena- 
cing than  the  imagination  can  conceive.  Enormous 
fragments  are  continually  rolling  down  ;  and  as  the 
wind  roars  through  the  gloomy  defile,  and  threatens 
to  sweep  you  into  the  torrent  below,  you  wonder 
what  power  it  is  which  holds  together  the  terrifying 
suspensions,  and  prevents  your  being  crushed  by  the 
fa!'.  Much  has  been  related  of  the  peril  of  travers- 
ing, a  pass  on  the  summit  of  a  mountain  with  yawn- 
ing precipices  beneath  your  feet ;  but  in  fact  there  is 
no  danger  equal  to  a  journey  through  a  defile  like 
this,  where  you  are  at  the  bottom  of  an  Alpine  gulf, 
with  hundreds  of  feet  of  crumbling  rock  above  your 
head."  Through  this  pass  NefT  forced  his  way  in 
the  middle  of  January.  He  was  received  as  an 
angel  of  mercy.  He  proclaimed  the  truths  of  the 
Gospel  daily  ;  he  visited  from  house  to  house,  sat 
by  the  bedside  of  the  sick  and  the  dying ;  death 
was  robbed  of  its  sting,  a.  id  the  grave  of  its  ter- 
rors. He  formed  classes  for  instruction,  schools 
for  learning  to  read,  and  for  singing,  for  he  loved 
the  songs  of  Zion ;  and  as  he  pursued  his  way 
through  the   dreary  mountain   pass,    his  spirit  was 

aroused  to  renewed  efforts,  and  cheered  by  the  sound 
9 


184  THE    GENIUS    OF    WAR. 

of  his  own  voice  echoing  hymns  of  praise  amidst  the-, 
terrific  and  sublime  handy  work  of  Him  who  cieated 
the  everlasting  hills. 

NefF  visited  the  most  distant  parts  rf  his  field  of 
labor  during  the  first  winter  of  his  arrival  in  the  High 
Alps.  He  traversed  the  way  on  foot  amid  the  deep 
snows  ;  braved  the  chilling  blasts,  the  storm,  and  the 
tempest.  Onward,  was  his  cry ;  forward  to  thy 
work,  thy  Master's  work — for  the  night  cometh  when 
no  man  can  work.  He  approaches  the  village  of  St. 
Jean  d'Heran ;  his  coming  was  expected ;  the  peo- 
ple throng  the  wayside  to  welcome  him  ;  the  old  and 
the  young  hasten  to  greet  their  much-loved  pastor. 
His  heart  throbs  with  emotion,  and  he  requests  them 
to  retire  to  their  homes,  promising  to  visit  each  cot- 
tage. 

Of  Dormilleuse,  the  highest  village  in  the  valley 
of  Fressiniere,  perched  upon  a  cliff  high  up  the 
mountain-side,  it  has  been  said,  that  of  all  the  hab- 
itable spots  in  Europe,  this  is  the  most  repul- 
sive. The  traveller  in  search  of  new  scenes  to 
gratify  his  taste  for  the  sublime  and  beautiful,  finds 
nothing  to  repay  him  but  the  satisfaction  of  planting 
his  foot  on  the  spot  which  has  been  hallowed  as  the 
asylum  of  Christians,  of  whom  the  world  was  not 
worthy.  Here  NefT  aided  with  his  own  hands 
to  build  a  chapel  and  a  school-house.  After  about 
;hree  and  a  half  years'  labor,  his  health  gave  way, 
and   in   a   little   while  he   was  obliged   to   give  up 


THE  GENIUS  0*    WAR.  185 

his  work,  and  return  to  Geneva,  his  native  city,  to 
die.  A  beautiful  tribute — and  well  was  it  deserved — 
has  been  paid  to  his  memory.  His  sun  went  down 
whilst  it  was  yet  day.  But  as  the  departing  rays  of 
the  great  natural  luminary  often  leave  the  western  sky 
gloriously  illumined  long  after  the  splendid  orb  from 
which  they  emanate  has  sunk  below  the  horizon  ; 
so  the  piety,  the  zeal,  the  amazing  labors  of  Neff 
amid  the  frightful  valleys  of  the  Alps,  have  not 
ceased  to  shed  their  heavenly  influence  upon  the 
world  to  this  day.  Destitute  of  the  early  advantages 
and  the  science  of  Henry  Martyn,  he  was  yet  per- 
haps the  equal  of  that  wonderful  man  in  natural  tal- 
ent and  zeal. 

On  the  other  hand,  possessing  the  devoted  piety 
and  ardent  passion  for  the  salvation  of  men  and 
the  glory  of  God,  which  characterized  the  life  of  Da- 
vid Brainerd,  he  resembled  him  both  in  the  shortness 
and  the  sufferings  of  his  missionary  career. 

In  contrast  to  the  preceding,  turn  we  to  the  glory 
of  war.  An  eminent  statesman  of  our  own  land,  ad- 
verting to  the  subject,  says  :  "  Of  the  ten  thousand 
Dattles  which  have  been  fought;  of  all  the  fields 
fertilized  with  carnage  ;  of  the  banners  which  have 
been  bathed  in  blood  ;  of  the  warriors  who  had 
hoped  that  they  had  risen  from  the  field  of  con 
quest  to  a  glory  as  bright  and  durable  as  the  stars 
how  few  that  continue  long  to  interest  mankind  !" 

In  reading  of  all  the  great  and  mighty  deeds  of  men, 


1S6  THE    GENIUS    OF    WAR. 

and  looking  on  tiie  great  throng,  toiling  and  strug 
gling  through  dangers,  difficulties,  and  horrors  for  the 
word  glory, — the  empty  echo  of  renown,  or  perhaps  a 
worse  reward,  we  rise  as  from  a  phantasmagoria,  when 
a  world  of  strange  and  glittering  figures  have  been 
passing  before  the  eye,  changing  with  the  rapidity 
of  light,  and  each  leaving  an  impression  for  memory, 
though  the  whole  was  but  the  shadow  of  a  shade. 

Napoleon,  when  addressing  his  troops,  told  them 
of  the  "  glory  of  France."  Glory  was  his  watch- 
word— glory  was  his  battle-cry ;  and  tens  of  thou- 
sands responded  to  his  call,  from  every  hill  and  valley 
of  France  ;  from  the  cottage  and  the  castle  the  in- 
fatuated mass  rushed  forward  to  join  his  eagle  stan- 
dard.    Where  are  they  ? 

"  0?er  the  ensanguined  plain 
I  gaze,  and  seek  their  numerous  host  in  vain  ; 
Gone  like  the  locust  band,  when  whirlwinds  bear 
Their  flimsy  legions  through  the  waste  of  air." 

Where  are  they  ?  Go  ask  the  rocks  and  chasms 
of  the  Alps  to  give  up  their  dead.  Ask  the  vulture 
soaring  in  mid  air  above  the  loftiest  heights,  for  the 
human  prey  upon  which  he  fed.  Ask  the  bridge  of 
Lodi  for  its  victims,  the  action  at  which,  Napoleon, 
in  writing  to  the  Directory,  terms  "the  terrible  pas- 
sage of  the  bridge  of  Lodi ;"  or  the  marshes  of  Ar 
cola  for  the  eleven  thousand  who  fell  there  ;  after 
which  battle,   said   the  great  commander,  "  I  have 


THE  GENIUS  OF  WAR.  18? 

scarcely  a  general  left ;"  or  the  sands  of  Egypt  and 
the  Pyramids  to  bear  witness  of  the  thousands 
slaughtered  there  ;  or  the  dark  waters  of  Aboukir 
for  those  who  sank  beneath  the  waves  on  the  night 
of  Nelson's  victory;  or  the  thousands  afterwards 
driven  into  the  sea  by  the  French  army,  the  wa- 
ters of  which  were  said  to  have  been  covered 
with  floating  turbans.  The  catalogue  is  not  yet 
filled  :  there  is  Marengo's  field,  Austerlitz,  Jena,  the 
snowy  wastes  of  Russia,  and  Beresina's  icy  flood, 
from  whose  waters  thirty-six  thousand  corses  were 
taken,  the  remains  of  those  who  had  perished  in  the 
retreat  of  the  grand  army  from  Moscow.  Close  the 
dreadful  tragedy  with  the  scene  enacted  at  Waterloo, 
where  the  loss  of  the  victors  threw  half  of  Britain 
into  mourning.  Call  you  this  glory  ?  "  He  who 
sows  to  the  wind  shall  reap  the  whirlwind."  Behold 
the  man  who  shook  Europe  to  its  centre — at  whose 
will  empires  rose  and  fell — in  whose  hands  crowns 
were  as  toys  : — the  narrow  limits  of  a  rock  in  the 
midst  of  the  ocean  are  the  bounds  which  confine  him  ! 
A  tempest  rages — the  sea  is  lashed  in  foam,  and 
dashes  with  a  sullen  roar  upon  the  lonely  rock — trees 
are  torn  up  by  the  roots — all  nature  is  convulsed  ; — 
Napoleon  lay  upon  his  death-bed  ;  his  last  thoughts 
still  pointing  to  his  master-passion,  he  languidly  ex- 
claimed, "  Tete  tfarmee"  and  his  spirit  passed  from 
its  tenement  of  clay.  Alas  for  earthly  grandeur, 
thrones,  palaces,  empires — where  is  their  glory  ? 


188  THE    GENIUS    OF    WAR. 

On  the  30th  September,  1816,  a  public  meeting 
A  great  interest  was  held  in  the  city  of  London.  An 
immense  congregation  filled  the  large  church  in  which 
the  exercises  were  appointed  to  take  place.  It  was  no 
festival  day ;  no  banners  were  borne  aloft,  no  strains 
of  music  burst  upon  the  ear — yet  the  aisles  and  gal- 
leries of  the  spacious  building  were  thronged.  Nine 
young  men  stood  forth  to  receive  commissions, — not 
as  officers  of  a  martial  host,  to  lead  men  to  fields  of 
slaughter  and  carnage — to  mingle  in  the  work  of 
death — yet  they  went  forth  to  conquer,  to  triumph 
under  the  banner  of  the  Prince  of  Peace, — as  mis- 
sionaries of  the  Gospel — soldiers  of  the  Cross — 
ready  to  follow  the  great  apostle  of  the  Gentiles, 
whose  declaration,  "  God  forbid  that  I  should  glory 
save  in  the  cross  of  Christ,"  each  one  was  ready 
to  adopt  as  his  own.  A  Christian  minister  steps 
forth  and  places  in  the  hands  of  each  the  Holy 
Bible  :  this  is  their  guide,  their  shield,  their  weapon  ; 
this  contains  the  promise  of  the  Son  of  God,  "  Lo 
I  am  with  you  alway."  What  need  they  more  ? 
They  enlist  under  the  banner  of  the  great  Captain 
of  salvation.  They  give  themselves  to  the  great  and 
glorious  work  of  proclaiming  the  Gospel  to  the  dark 
places  of  the  earth  ;  indifferent  to  all  those  ties  which 
bind  one  to  his  native  land.  Objects  endeared  by 
many  happy  recollections  are  to  be  seen  and  visited 
no  more.  Friends  and  companions  are  bid  farewell, 
and  that  holy  chain  of  kindred  affection,  though  com 


THE  GEN   US  OF  WAR.  1 8S 

posed  of  a  thousand  links,  and  each  link  entwined  by 
a  wreath  of  life's  sweetest  flowers,  is  to  be  snapped 
asunder.  Yet  the  missionary  is  willing  to  endure 
all  this  for  the  cause  of  Him  who  freely  gave  his  life 
a  ransom  for  guilty  man. 

John  Williams  was  the  youngest  of  the  number. 
His  field  of  labor  was  the  islands  of  the  South  Seas. 
A  few  weeks  before  he  sailed,  the  friends  of  missions 
were  cheered  by  glad  tidings  from  those  distant 
groups.  After  a  long  night  of  toil,  the  morning  had 
at  length  dawned  upon  Tahiti  and  the  surrounding 
islands.  The  savage  tribes  had  felt  the  influence  of 
the  truth,  and  many  of  the  chiefs  were  the  first  to 
embrace  it.  Twelve  months  have  passed  away,  and 
the  missionary  stands  upon  a  heathen  shore.  New 
scenes  meet  his  view.  Entering  the  chapel  at  Ei- 
meo,  he  beholds  hundreds  worshipping  the  true  God, 
who  but  a  few  months  before  were  savages,  sacri- 
ficing to  idols.  He  hears  the  voice  of  the  island- 
er's prayer  imploring  the  blessing  of  God  upon  the 
missionaries  and  their  labors. 

Having  acquired  a  knowledge  of  the  language  and 
the  habits  of  the  natives,  the  intrepid  Williams  com- 
mences that  brilliant  and  glorious  series  of  victories 
which  he  is  the  instrument  in  accomplishing.  A  canoe, 
containing  a  chief  and  a  number  of  natives  from  Ru- 
rutu,  launched  upon  the  broad  billows  to  seek  a  refuge 
they  knew  not  where,  from  a  fatal  epidemic  which 
was  sweeping  over  their  lovely  but  devoted  island. 


i  90  THE    GENIUS    OF    WAil. 

The  strangers  are  providentially  guided,  or  rathei 
driven  by  the  winds  and  waves  upon  the  shores  of 
Mauro,  where  they  find  the  inhabitants  worshipping 
the  Christian's  God.  These  point  to  their  demolish 
ed  maraes*  and  mutilated  images,  and  inform  the 
strangers  that  white  men  had  come  from  a  distant 
land  to  teach  them  the  Gospel  of  peace  ;  and  that 
they  were  living  on  islands,  the  summits  of  whose 
mountains  they  could  see.  Again  the  canoe  is  launch- 
ed ;  not  now  to  fly  from  the  anger  of  imaginary 
gods,  and  the  destroying  pestilence,  but  in  search  of 
those  who  could  tell  them  of  "  the  way,  the  truth, 
and  the  life ;"  they  are  wafted  to  the  shores  of 
Raiatea, — they  behold  with  wonder  the  men,  the 
missionaries  and  their  wives  ;  they  hear  the  precepts 
of  peace,  and  love,  and  hope ;  they  hear  of  heaven 
and  its  joys, — they  ask  for  teachers  to  accompany 
them  to  their  own  native  isle,  and  instruct  their 
friends  and  kindred. 

A  month  has  passed.  They  have  visited  their 
home,  and  return  with  their  boat  laden  with  the  spoils 
of  victory,  the  idols  taken  in  a  bloodless  war.  The 
missionary  visits  other  islands  ;  he  approaches  Aitu- 
laki ;  the  natives  surround  his  boat  and  draw  it  upon 
the  shore,  singing  hymns  of  praise.  He  hears  of 
other  lands,  upon  whose  shores  the  white  man  has 
never  trod  ;  he  desires  to  visit  them,  and  sails  with- 

*  Ido!  temples. 


THE  GENIUS  OF  WAR.  191 

out  a  chart  or  guide,  and  returns  unsuccessful.  He 
sails  again  and  renews  the  search  ;  and  now  the  lofty 
hills  of  Raratonga,  the  unknown  land,  are  descried. 
After  many  days  of  doubt  and  anxiety,  the  people 
receive  the  truth,  and  the  Gospel  banner  waves  in 
peace  over  this  beautiful  island.  The  thoughts  of 
the  missionary  now  wander  to  a  far-off  group,  at  a 
distance  of  near  two  thousand  miles.  He  resolves 
to  build  a  ship,  and  embark  for  those  distant  shores. 
But  another  trial  now  awaits  him  ;  will  he  leave  the 
partner  of  his  life,  the  mother  of  his  children — she 
who  cheered  him  in  his  labors,  who  left  her  home  to 
be  his  companion  in  these  benighted  lands  ?  "  Go," 
said  the  heroic  wife,  "  go,  and  every  day  my  prayers 
shall  follow  you,  that  God  may  preserve  you,  crown 
your  efforts  with  success,  and  bring  you  back  in 
safety." 

The  "  Messenger  of  Peace,"  their  little  vessel,  is 
at  length  completed,  and  floats  upon  the  waves.  She 
bears  upon  her  flag  the  dove  and  olive-branch.  The 
anchor  is  weighed,  and  they  bear  away  for  "  Samoa's 
land."  Many  islands  are  visited,— laborers  in  the 
vineyard  of  God  are  cheered  in  theii  work,  and  at 
length  the  Samoan  group  rises  in  view.  The  cloud- 
capped  mountains  of  Savaii  are  descried  ;  and  the 
first  white  man,  the  messenger  of  salvation,  stands 
upon  the  shore.  Thousands  cluster  around  and  list- 
en to  the  voice  of  him  who  tells  them  of  Jehovah, 
the  only  true  God,  the  God  of  peace  and  love ;  they 


192  THE    GENIUS    OF    WAR. 

ask  if  the  Christian's  religion  will  put  an  end  to  their 
dreadful  wars.  The  missionary  proceeds  to  the  resi 
dence  of  the  great  war-chief,  Malietoa.  As  the  mes- 
sengers of  the  Gospel  of  peace  land  on  the  shore, 
they  behold  the  mountains  enveloped  in  flames  and 
smoke  ;  they  inquire  the  cause.  Has  a  volcano  burst 
forth,  spreading  destruction  abroad, — its  torrent  of 
lava  overflowing  the  plains  ?  Ah,  no  !  it  is  war.  A 
battle  has  just  been  fought,  and  the  flames  are  con- 
suming the  houses,  the  plantations,  and  the  bodies  of 
women  and  children,  and  the  aged  and  infirm,  who 
have  fallen  into  the  hands  of  their  sanguinary  con- 
querors. Months  have  rolled  on  in  their  course  ;  a 
large  chapel  has  been  erected.  The  missionary  de- 
clares the  Gospel  truth  to  a  thousand  attentive  listen- 
ers. "  Give  us  teachers,"  they  cry.  "  We  will 
have  no  more  war.  We  wish  for  peace  ;  we  desire 
to  be  Christians,  and  to  worship  the  true  God." 
And  now  we  approach  the  closing  scene  in  the  life 
of  the  martyr  of  Erromanga.  He  had  visited  his  na- 
tive land,  his  own  loved  England  ;  he  had  met  with 
kind  and  beloved  friends  and  kindred  once  more. 
But  he  cannot  stay ;  his  mind,  his  whole  soul  is  in 
his  Master's  work.  The  ship  is  bounding  over  the 
waves  ;  he  is  received  with  joy  in  the  islands  where 
he  labored  and  established  the  Gospel,  but  he  cannot 
rest ;  there  are  thousands  far  beyond  who  are  yet 
destitute.  He  arrives  at  another  group  in  the  West- 
ern Pacific  ;    Erromanga  is  selected, — selected,  alas  ' 


THE  GENIUS  OF  WAR.  193 

to  be  his  grave.  The  boat  touches  the  shore  ■  he 
advances  within  the  shade  of  the  lofty  trees  to  mee 
the  natives,  beings  of  a  savage  and  fierce  aspect,  while 
the  crew  wait  the  issue  in  fearful  suspense.  A.  cry 
breaks  the  death-like  silence ;  he  flies  to  the  shore, 
pursued  by  cannibals ;  he  falls  ;  the  club  of  the  sav- 
age descends  upon  him  ;  and,  pierced  with  poisoned 
arrows,  he  yields  his  life  a  martyr  in  the  hallowed 
cause  of  his  divine  Master. 

Robert  MofTatt  stood  upon  the  platform  in  Surrey 
Chapel,  and  was  commissioned  to  go  "  far  hence 
among  the  Gentiles,"  at  the  same  time  with  the  Martyr 
of  Erromanga.  Their  respective  fields  of  labor  were 
both  arduous  but  of  a  widely  different  character.  Mof 
fatt  had  felt  the  claims  of  the  perishing,  and  helpless, 
and  almost  friendless  millions  of  Africa,  with  whom,  as 
he  said,  when  on  a  visit  to  his  native  land,  all  black, 
and  barbarous,  and  benighted  as  they  were,  he  hoped 
to  live,  labor,  and  die.  Soon  after,  he  embarked  for 
the  shores  of  South  Africa,  where  he  is  now,  unless 
called  to  rest  from  his  labors,  among  the  children  of 
the  wilderness,  the  wild  tribes  of  the  desert — the  Ka 
firs,  the  Bushmen,  and  the  Hottentots. 

With  the  exception  of  a  single  tribe  in  the  unex- 
plored regions  of  the  interior,  there  does  not  exis 
a  tribe  or  people  more  brutish,  ignorant,  and  mis 
erable,  than  the  Bushmen  of  South  Africa.  They 
have  neither  house  nor  shed,  flocks  nor  herds 
Their  home  is  afar  in  the  desert — the  unfrequenteo 


194  THE    GENIUS    OF    WAR. 

mountain  pass,  or  the  secluded  recess  of  a  cave  ot 
ravine. 

The  Bushman  has  a  melancholy  cast  of  features, 
with  a  quick  and  suspicious  look.  This  cannot  be 
wondered  at  when  it  is  remembered  that  he  asso- 
ciates with  savage  beasts,  from  the  lion  that  roams 
abroad  by  night  and  day,  to  the  deadly  serpent  which 
infests  his  path.  "  I  have  traversed,"  said  the  mis- 
sionary, "regions,  in  which  thousands  once  dwelt, 
drinking  at  their  own  fountains  and  killing  their  own 
game ;  but  now,  alas  !  scarcely  a  family  is  to  be 
seen.  It  is  impossible  to  look  over  these  desolate 
plains  and  mountain-glens,  without  feeling  the  deep- 
est melancholy,  while  the  wind,  moaning  in  the  vale, 
seems  to  echo  back  the  sound,  '  Where  are  they  ?' 
Poor  Bushman  !  thy  hand  has  been  against  every 
one,  and  every  one's  hand  against  thee."  They  kill 
their  children  without  remorse,  strangle  or  smothei 
them,  cast  them  away  in  the  desert,  or  bury  them 
alive,  when  forced  to  flee  upon  the  approach  of  foes  ; 
and  the  parent  has  been  known  to  cast  his  tender  off- 
spring to  the  hungry  lion,  that  stands  roaring  before 
his  hiding-place  in  the  rock.  Are  we  not  ready  to 
ask,  Can  these  beings  be  human  ?  Kindness  is  the 
key  to  the  human  heart.  Even  the  Bushman,  with 
his  savage  nature,  has  been  found  to  acknowledge 
the  benign  and  transforming  power  of  the  Gospel  of 
peace  : — and  a  number,  when  they  heard  the  word 
oi    'ife,  believed,  and   a  Christian  church   arose   id 


THE   GENIUS   OF  WAR,  195 

their  midst ;  extensive  gardens  were  laid  out,  and 
these  were  cultivated  by  the  wild  Bushman's  own 
hands  : — making  the  wilderness  to  rejoice,  and  blos« 
som  as  the  rose.  The  roving  Bushman  has  been 
induced  to  throw  aside  his  spear,  to  construct  a  dwell- 
ing-place, to  rear  flocks  and  herds,  and,  on  the  Sab- 
bath-day, to  resort  to  the  house  of  prayer. 

Such  men  as  the  two  we  have  referred  to  may  well 
command  our  highest  admiration  and  gratitude  ;  they 
are  the  true  benefactors  of  mankind,— the  standard- 
bearers  of  the  Gospel,  who  go  forth  sowing  in  tears 
its  precious  seed.  Many  have  nobly  fallen  at  their 
post  of  duty,  and  prepared  the  way  for  others  to  reap 
in  joy  ;  'twas  thus   in  Kafir-land. 

Doctor    Vanderkemp,    a  native  of    Holland,    was 
the  first  to  sound  the  theme   of  divine  love  among 
the    Kafirs,    a  nation    of   atheists,    a   people  inured 
to    war,    fierce    and    superstitious.       Fearlessly   he 
pitched  his  tent  in  their  midst,  although  surrounded 
with  dangers  seen  and  unseen  ;  looked  upon  as  a  spy 
come  to  search  out  their  land,  his  life  was  m  dangei 
from  the  secret  foe  lying  in  wait  to  stab  him,  and  the 
open  hostility  of  the  tyrant  chief.     Yet  his  life  was 
preserved  from  the  foe  and  from  the  beast  of  prey. 
He  was  the  first  public  defender  of  the  rights  of  the 
pooi  degraded  Hottentot.     He  seemed,  by  his  firm 
ness  of  character  and  distinguished  talents,  prepared 
for  the  Herculean  task  to  which  he  devoted  himself. 
He  forced  his  way  at  once  into  the  midst  of  a  dense 


196  THE    GENIUS    OF    WAR. 

population  of  barbarians,  the  most  powerful,  warlike, 
and  independent  of  all  the  tribes  within  or  withou 
the  boundaries  of  the  Cape  Colony.  He  was  not 
only  a  profound  student  in  ancient  languages,  but  in 
all  the  modern  European  tongues  ;  yet  this  man, 
constrained  by  the  "love  of  Christ,"  could  cheer- 
fully lay  aside  all  his  academic  honors,  when  the 
paramount  claims  of  the  destitute  heathen  were  pre- 
sented to  his  mind.  He  came  from  a  university  to 
teach  the  alphabet  to  the  poor  naked  Hottentot ;  from 
the  refinements  of  society,  to  associate  with  beings 
of  the  lowest  grade  ;  from  a  life  of  earthly  honors 
and  ease,  to  one  of  perils  of  waters,  of  robbers,  and 
of  the  heathen,  in  the  desert  and  the  wilderness. 

How  strikingly  is  the  power  of  the  Gospel  exem- 
plified in  the  life  and  death  of  Africaner,  the  terror 
of  South  Africa,  who,  in  the  days  of  his  youth, 
roamed  free  over  his  native  hills,  and,  with  his  father, 
rich  in  the  possession  of  flocks  and  herds !  The  for- 
eigner seized  their  lands  and  made  them  dependents. 
Africaner,  oppressed  and  goaded  on  to  madness  by 
his  tyrannical  master,  sought  revenge.  A  fitting  op- 
portunity presenting  itself,  their  oppressors  were  shot 
down,  and  Africaner,  with  .his  band,  fled  to  the  woods 
on  the  banks  of  the  Orange  river,  and  there  faed  his 
abode.  He  soon  became  the  terror  of  the  land.  The 
tribes  fled  at  his  approach.  His  name  carried  dismay 
even  to  the  solitary  wastes.  This  man,  once  the  lion, 
at  whose  roar  the  inhabitants  of  distant  hamlets  fled 


THE   GENIUS  OF   WAR.  19? 

from  their  homes,  may  now  be  seen  to  weep  like 
a  child  under  the  influence,  of  that  spirit  of  heavenly 
peace  and  love,  which  makes  men  a  little  lowei  .han 
the  angels.  Hear  this  former  terror  of  the  land,  now 
a  meek  and  humble  follower  of  the  Lamb  :  "  What 
have  I  now,"  said  he,  "of  all  the' battles  I  have  fought 
and  all  the  property  I  destroyed,  but  shame  and  re- 
morse ?"  And  the  hero  of  Europe's  battle-fields 
might  have  asked  himself  amid  the  solitudes  of  St. 
Helena,  What  have  I  now  of  all  of  the  battles  fought, 
and  victories  won,  and  spoils  gained  in  strife  1  "  Ar 
riving  at  Pella,"  says  Mr.  Moffatt,  "  we  had  a  feast 
fit  for  heaven-born  souls  and  subjects,  to  which  the 
seraphim  above  might  have  tuned  their  golden  lyres. 
Men  met,  who  had  not  seen  each  other  since  they 
had  joined  in  mutual  combat  for  each  other's  destruc- 
tion ;  met — warrior  with  warrior,  bearing  in  their  hands 
the  olive-branch,  secure  under  the  panoply  of  peace  and 
love.  They  talked  of  Him  who  had  subdued  both, 
without  a  sword  or  spear,  and  each  bosom  swelled  with 
purest  friendship,  and  exhibited  another  trophy  destined 
to  adorn  the  triumph  of  the  Prince  of  Peace,  under 
whose  banner  each  was  promoting  that  reign  in  which 

w  '  No  longer  hosts  encountering  hosts, 
Their  heaps  of  slain  deplore  ; 
They  hang  the  trumpet  in  the  hall, 
And  stud}7  war  no  more.'  " 

Africaner  lay  upon  his  death-bed.     He  called  hia 


J 98  THE    C4EN1US    OF    WAR. 

people  around  him  :  "  We  are  not,"  said  he,  "  whai 
we  were,  savages,  but  men  professing  to  be  taught 
according  to  the  Gospel.  Let  us,  then,  do  accord 
ingly.  Live  peaceably  with  all  men,  if  possible  ; 
and  consult  those  who  are  placed  over  you  before 
you  engage  in  any  "thing.  Behave  to  any  teacher 
sent  to  you,  as  one  sent  of  God,  as  I  have  great 
hope  that  God  will  bless  you  in  this  respect  when 
I  am  gone  to  heaven.  I  feel  that  I  love  God,  and 
that  he  has  done  much  for  me,  of  which  I  am 
totally  unworthy.  My  former  life  is  stained  with 
blood,  but  I  trust  I  am  pardoned  by  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ  and  am  going  to  heaven." 

But  we  must  close  our  illustrations  and  remarks, 
although  the  theme  is  far  from  being  exhausted  of  its 
interest ;  the  contrast  exhibited  between  the  two  con- 
ditions of  peace  and  war,  will  never  be  fully  portrayed 
till  the  arrival  of  that  great  day  for  which  all  other 
days  were  made,  when  there  shall  stand  before  the 
"great white  throne"  the  conqueror  and  the  conquer- 
ed ;  the  leaders  of  armed  hosts,  and  their  myriads  of 
slain  victims  :  then,  but  not  till  then,  will  it  be  pos- 
sible to  learn,  in  all  its  vast  extent,  the  importance 
of  the  Gospel  of  peace,  with  its  heaven-appointed 
ministrant ; — one  of  whose  glorious  predictions  it  is, 
that  the  nations  shall  learn  war  no  more. 


|3ocal)ontae. 

flVW.   GILMORE  SIMMS. 


Light  was  the  heart  and  sweet  the  smile, 

Of  her,  the  maid  of  forest-bower, 
Ere  yet  the  stranger's  step  of  guile 

Bore  one  soft  beauty  from  the  flower ; 
The  wi^d  girl  of  an  Indian  vale, 

A  child,  with  all  of  woman's  seeming, 
And  if  her  cheek  be  less  than  pale, 

'Twas  with  the  life-blood  through  it  streaming 
Soft  was  the  light  that  fill'd  her  eye, 

And  grace  was  in  her  every  motion, 
Her  tone  was  touching,  like  the  sigh, 

When  young  love  first  becomes  devotion, — 
And  worship  still  was  hers— her  sire 

Beloved  and  fear'd,  a  prince  of  power, 
Whose  simplest  word  or  glance  of  ire 

Still  made  a  thousand  chieftains  cower. 
Not  such  her  sway,— yet  not  the  less, 
Because  it  better  pleased  to  bless, 
And  won  its  rule  by  gentleness  : 


200  POCAHONTAS. 

Among  a  savage  people,  still 

She  kept  from  savage  moods  apart, 
And  thought  of  crime  and  dream  of  ill 

Had  never  sway'd  her  maiden  heart. 
A  milder  tutor  had  been  there, 

And,  midst  wild  scenes  and  wilder  men, 
Her  spirit,  like  her  form,  was  fair, 

And  gracious  was  its  guidance  then. 
Her  sire,  that  fierce  old  forest  king, 

Himself  had  ruled  that  she  should  be 
A  meek,  and  ever  gentle  thing, 

To  clip  his  neck,  to  clasp  his  knee ; 
To  bring  his  cup  when,  from  the  chase, 

He  came,  o'erwearied  with  its  toils ; 
To  cheer  him  by  her  girlish  grace, 

To  sooth  him  by  her  sunniest  smiles — 
For  these,  she  dwelt  a  thing  apart 

From  deeds  that  make  the  savage  mirth, 
And  haply  thus  she  kept  her  heart 

As  fresh  and  feeling  as  at  birth  ; 
A  Christian  heart,  though  by  its  creed 

Untaught,  yet  in  her  native  wild, 
Free  from  all  taint  of  thought  or  deed, 

A  sweet,  and  fond,  and  spotless  child ; 
Scarce  woman  yet,  but  haply  nigh 

The  unconscious  changes  of  the  hour 
When  youth  is  sad,  unknowing  why, — 

The  bud  dilating  to  the  flower, 
And  sighing  with  the  expanding  birth 


POCAHONTAS. 

Of  passionate  hopes  that,  born  to  bless, 
May  yet,  superior  still  to  earth, 

Make  happy  with  their  pure  impress. 
Such,  in  her  childhood,  ere  the  blight 

Of  failing  fortunes  touch'd  her  race, 
Was  Pocahontas  still, — a  bright 

And  blessing  form  of  youth  and  grace,- 
Beloved  of  all,  her  father's  pride, 

His  passion,  from  the  rest  apart, 
A  love  for  which  he  still  had  died, 

The  very  life-blood  of  his  heart. 


ii. 

The  king  would  seek  the  chase  to-day, 

And  mighty  is  the  wild  array 

That  gathers  nigh  in  savage  play, — 

A  nation  yields  its  ear  ; 
A  bison  herd — so  goes  the  tale — 
Is  trampling  down  the  cultured  vale, 
And  none  who  love  the  land  may  fail 

To  gather  when  they  hear. 
He  goes, — the  father  from  his  child, 
To  seek  the  monster  of  the  wild, 
But,  in  his  fond  embraces  caught, 
Ere  yet  he  goes,  he  hears  her  thought,— 
Her  wish, — the  spotted  fawn,  his  prize, 
The  pet  most  dear  to  girlhood's  eyes, 
Long  promised,  which  the  chase  denies. 


202  POCAHONTAS. 

•Stern  is  the  sudden  look  he  darts 

Around  the  assembled  crowd,  as  now 
His  footstep  from  the  threshold  parts, 

And  dark  the  cloud  about  his  brow. 
"  We  hunt  no  timid  deer  to-day, 
And  arm  for  slaughter,  not  for  play, — 
Another  season  for  such  prey, 

My  child,  and  other  prey  for  thee  : 
A  captive  from  the  herd  we  seek, 
Would  bring  but  sorrow  to  thy  cheek, 
Make  thee  forget  what  peace  is  here, 

Of  bird,  and  bloom,  and  shady  tree, 
And  teach  thine  eyes  the  unknown  tear  ?- 
No  more  !" 

He  puts  her  from  his  grasp 
Undoes,  with  gentle  hand,  the  clasp 
She  takes  about  his  neck,  and  then, 

Even  as  he  sees  her  silent  grief 

He  turns,  that  dark  old -Indian  chief, 
And  takes  her  to  his  arms  again. 
"  It  shall  be  as  thou  wilt — the  fawn, 
Ere  from  the  hills  the  light  is  gone, 

Shall  crouch  beneath  thy  handsv" 
How  sweetly  then  she  smiled — his  eye 
Once  more  perused  her  tenderly, 
Then,  with  a  smile,  he  put  her  by, 

And  shouted  to  his  bands. 


POCAHONTAS.  203 

III. 

They  came  ! — a  word,  a  look,  is  all — 

The  thicket  hides  their  wild  array, 
A  thousand  warriors,  plumed  and  tall, 

Well  arm'd  and  painted  for  the  fray. 
The  maiden  watch'd  their  march, — a  doubt 

Rose  in  her  heart,  which,  as  they  went, 
Her  tongue  had  half-way  spoken  out, 

Suspicious  of  their  fell  intent... 
"  A  bison  herd — yet  why  the  frown 

Upon  my  father's  brow,  and  why 
The  war-tuft  on  each  warrior's  crown, 

The  war-whoop  as  they  gather'd  nigh  ? 
They  tell  of  stranger  braves — a  race, 
With  thunder  clad,  and  pale  of  face, 
And  lightnings  in  their  grasp, — who  dart 

The  bolt  unseen  with  deadliest  aim, — 

A  sudden  shock,  a  show  of  flame, — 
Still  fatal,  to  the  foeman's  heart. 
Ah  !  much  I  fear,  with  these  to  fight, 

Our  warriors  seek  the  woods  to-day, 
And  they  will  back  return  by  night 

With  horrid  tokens  of  the  fray  ; — 
With  captives  doom'd  in  robes  of  fire 

To  sooth  the  spirits  of  those  who  fell, 
And  glut  the  red  and  raging  ire 

Of  those  who  but  avenge  too  well  ! 
Ah  !  father,  could  my  prayer  avail, 

Such  should  not  be  thy  sport  and  pride ; 


204  POCAHONTAS. 

[t  were,  methinks,  a  lovelier  tale, 

Of  peace  along  our  river's  side  ; 
And  groves  of  plenty,  filFd  with  song 
Of  birds,  that  crowd,  a  happy  throng 

To  hail  the  happier  throngs  below  ; 
That  tend  the  maize-fields  and  pursue 
The  chase,  or  urge  the  birch  canoe, 

And  seek  no  prey  and  have  no  foe  ! 
Ah  !  not  for  me, — if  there  should  come 
A  chief  to  bear  me  to  his  home,— 
Let  him  not  hope,  with  bloody  spear, 

To  win  me  to  his  heart  and  will, — 
Nor  boast,  in  hope  to  please  my  ear, 

Of  victims  he  has  joy'd  to  kill. 

No  !  let  me  be  a  maiden  still ; 
I  care  not  if  they  mock,  and  say 

The  child  of  Powhatan  sits  lone, 
And  lingers  by  the  public  way 

With  none  to  hearken  to  her  moan,— 
She'll  sit,  nor  sigh,  till  one  appears 
Who  finds  no  joy  in  human  tears." 

IV. 

Now  sinks  the  day-star,  and  the  eve 
With  dun  and  purple  seems  to  grieve ; 
Sudden  the  dark  ascends,  the  night 
Speeds  on  with  rapid  rush  and  flight ; 
The  maiden  leaves  her  forest  bowers, 
Where  late  she  wove  her  idle  flowers, 


POCAHONTAS.  205 

ChilPd  by  the  gloom,  but  chill'd  the  more 

As  from  the  distant  wood  she  hears 
A  shriek  of  death,  that,  heard  before, 

Has  grown  familiar  to  her  ears, 
And  fills  her  soul  with  secret  dread 

Of  many  a  grief  the  young  heart  knows, 
In  loneliness,  by  fancy  fed, 

That  ever  broods  o'er  nameless  woes, 
And  grieves  the  more  at  that  relief 
Which  finds  another  name  for  grief. 
Too  certain  now  her  cause  of  fear, 

That  shout  of  death  awakes  again ; 
The  cry  which  stuns  her  woman  ear, 
Is  that  of  vengeance  for  the  slain. 
Too  well  she  knows  the  sound  that  speaks 

For  terrors  of  the  mortal  strife, 
The  bitter  yell,  whose  promise  reeks 
With  vengeance  on  the  captive  life. 
"  No  bison  hunt,"  she  cried,  "  but  fight, 
Their  cruel  joy,  their  fierce  delight ; 
They  come  with  bloody  hands  to  bring 
Some  captive  to  the  fatal  ring ; 
There's  vengeance  to  be  done  to-day 
For  warrior  slaughter'd  in  the  fray ; 
Yet  who  their  foe,  unless  it  be 
The  race  that  comes  beyond  the  sea, 
The  pale,  but  powerful  chiefs,  who  bear 
m  The  lightnings  in  their  grasp,  and  fling 
Their  sudden  thunder  through  the  an 


206  POCAHONTAS. 

With  bolts  that  fly  on  secret  wing  ? 
The  Massawomek  now  no  more 
Brings  down  his  warriors  to  the  shore, 

And  'twas  but  late  the  Monacan, 
O'ercome  in  frequent  fight,  gave  o'er, 

And  bow'd  the  knee  to  Powhatan. 
Scarce  is  gone  three  moons  ago 
Since  they  laid  the  hatchet  low, 
Smoked  the  calumet  that  grew 

To  a  sign  for  every  eye, 
And  by  this  the  warriors  knew 
That  the  Spirit  from  above, 

As  the  light  smoke  floated  high, 
Bless'd  it  with  the  breath  of  love. 
'Tis  the  pale-face,  then,  and  he, — 
Wild  in  wrath,  and  dread  to  see, — 
Terrible  in  fight, — ah  !  me  ! 
If  against  my  father's  heart 
He  hath  sped  his  thunder-dart !" 

v. 

Now  gather  the  warriors  of  Powhatan  nigh, 
A  rock  is  his  throne, 
His  footstool  a  stone, 
Dark  the  cloud  on  his  brow,  keen  the  fire  in  his  eye, 
To  a  ridge  on  his  forehead  swells  the  vein ; — 
His  hand  grasps  the  hatchet,  which  swings  to  and 
fro, 
As  if  ready  to  sink  m  the  brain, 


P0CAH0NTA3.  207 

But  looking  in  vain  for  the  foe  ! 
Thus  the  king  on  the  circle  looks  round. 
With  a  speech  that  has  never  a  sound ; 
His  eye  hath  a  thirst  which  imparts 

What  the  lip  might  but  feebly  essay, 
And  it  speaks  like  an  arrow  to  their  hearts, 

As  if  bidding  them  bound  on  the  prey. 
The  brow  of  each  chief  is  in  air, 

With  a  loftiness  born  of  his  own ; 
And  the  king,  like  the  lion  from  his  lair, 

Looks  proud  on  the  props  of  his  throne. 
His  eagle  and  his  tiger  are  there, 

His  vulture,  his  cougar,  his  fox, — 

And  cold,  on  the  edge  of  his  rocks, 
The  war-rattle  rings  his  alarum  and  cries, 

"  I  strike,  and  my  enemy  dies  !" 
Lifts  the  soul  of  the  monarch  to  hear, 

Lifts  the  soul  of  the  monarch  to  see, 
And,  quick  at  his  summons,  the  chieftains  draw  near, 

And  shouting,  they  sink  on  the  knee, — 

Then  rise  and  await  his  decree. 

VI. 

The  king  in  conscious  majesty 

Roll'd  around  his  fiery  eye, 

As  some  meteor,  hung  on  high, 

Tells  of  fearful  things  to  be, 

In  the  record  roll  of  fate — 

Which  the  victim  may  not  flee — 
10 


208  POCAHONTAS. 

It  may  be  to  one  alone, 

Of  the  thousand  forms  that  wait, 
At  the  footstool  of  the  throne  !  . 
Parts  his  lips  for  speech,  but  ere 

Word  can  form  on  human  sense, 
Lo  !  the  circle  opens — there — 
One  descends,  a  form  of  light, 
As  if  borne  with  downward  flight, 

You  may  hardly  gather  whence. 
Slight  the  form,  and  with  a  grace 
Caught  from  heaven,  its  native  place ; 
Bright  of  eye,  and  with  a  cheek, 
In  its  glowing,  ever  meek. 
With  a  maiden  modesty, 
That  puts  love,  a  subject,  by  ; — 
And  such  soft  and  streaming  tresses. 
That  the  gazer  stops  and  blesses, 
Having  sudden  dreams  that  spell 

Reason  on  her  throne,  and  make 
All  the  subject  thoughts  rebel, 

For  the  simple  fancy's  sake  ! — 
Such  the  vision  now  !     The  ring 
Yields, — and  lo  !  before  the  king, 
Down  she  sinks  below  the  throne, 
Where  he  sits  in  strength  alone, — 
She  upon  a  lowly  stone  ! 
And  her  tresses  settle  down 
Loosely  on  her  shoulders  brown> 
Heedless  she,  the  while,  of  aught 


POCAHONTAS.  209 

But  the  terror  in  her  thought. 
Eager  in  her  fears,  her  hand 

Rests  upon  his  knee, — her  eye 
Gazing  on  the  fierce  command 

Throned  in  his  with  majesty — 
She  alone,  at  that  dark  hour, 
Dare  approach  the  man  of  power. 


vir 


Dread  the  pause  that  follow'd  then 
In  those  ranks  of  savage  men ; 
Fain  would  Powhatan  declare 

What  is  working  in  his  soul ; 
But  the  eye  that  meets  him  there, 
As  the  maiden  upward  looks,. 

Spells  him  with  a  sweet  control. 
Never  long  his  spirit  brooks 

Such  control — his  angry  eye 
Seeks  her  with  reproving  fire, 

And  her  lips,  with  fond  reply, 
Part  to  calm  the  rising  ire  ; 
Soft  the  accents,  yet  the  sound 
Strangely  breaks  the  silence  round. 

VIII. 

"  Is't  thus  thou  keep'st  thy  word  with  me  ? 

I  see  not  here  the  spotted  fawn, 
Which  thou  didst  promise  me  should  be, 

Ere  daylight  from  the  hills  was  gone, 
18* 


210  TOCAHONTAS. 

A  captive  all  unharmed  caught. 

For  this,  to  wreathe  its  neck,  I  sought 

The  purple  flower  that  crowns  the  wood, 
ti.nd  gather'd  from  the  sandy  shore 
The  singing  shell  with  crimson  core, 

As  it  were  dropp'd  with  innocent  blood. 
To  thee,  I  know,  the  task  were  light 

To  rouse  the  silver-foot  and  take, 
Even  in  its  weeping  mother's  sight, 

The  bleating  captive  from  the  brake. 
Yet,  no  !  there's  nothing  here  for  me, 

No  trophy  of  thy  skill  and  toil ; 
Not  even  the  bison-head  I  see, 

The  youthful  hunter's  proper  spoil. 
But,  in  its  stead — ah  !  wherefore  now, — 

My  father  !  do  not  check  thy  child  ! 
Why  is  the  dark  spot  on  thy  brow, 

And  why  thy  aspect  stern  and  wild  ? 
What  may  this  mean  ?  no  bison  chase, 

Nor  failing  sport,  not  often  vain, 
Has  fix'd  that  sign  upon  your  face, 

Of  passionate  hate  and  mortal  pain  ! 
Ah  !  no  !  methinks  the  fearful  mood 
Has  found  its  birth  in  hostile  blood — 
The  warwhoop  shouted  as  ye  went, 
This  told  me  of  your  fell  intent ; 
The  death-whoop,  chanted  as  ye  came, 
Declared,  as  well,  defeat  and  shame !" 


■ 


POCAHONTAS. 
IX. 

"  Ay  !"  cried  the  monarch,  "  well  ye  speak- 

I  feel  the  words  upon  my  cheek, 

In  burning  characters  that  cry 

For  vengeance  on  mine  enemy. 

'Tis  true  as  thou  hast  said,  my  child, 

We  met  our  foeman  in  the  wild, 

And  from  the  conflict  bear  away 

But  death  and  shame  to  prove  the  fray. 

Vainly  our  warriors  fought, — our  sires, 

Withhold  their  blessings  on  our  arms  ; 
The  pale-face  with  his  thunder-fires, 

His  lightning-shafts,  and  wizard  charms, 
Hath  baffled  strength  and  courage.     We 

May  fold  our  arms — the  glorious  race, 
That  from  the  day-god  took  their  birth, 

Must  to  the  stranger  yield  the  place, 
Uproot  the  great  ancestral  tree, 

And  fling  their  mantles  down  to  earth. 
Yet  shall  there  be  no  vengeance  ?     Cries, 
From  death,  demand  the  sacrifice  ; 
Souls  of  the  slaughter'd  warriors  stand, 
And  wave  us  with  each  bloody  hand ; 
Call  for  the  ghost  of  him  who  slew, 
In  bloody  rites,  a  warrior  true, — 

And  shall  they  call  in  vain  ? 
To  smooth  the  path  of  shadows,  heaven 
A  victim  to  the  doom  hath  given, 


212  l  UCAIIOJNTAS. 

Whose  brow,  with  stroke  asunder  riven. 
Shall  recompense  the  slain  !" 

x. 

Impatient,  then,  the  monarch  chief, 
While  fury  took  the  place  of  grief, 
A  stalwart  savage  summon'd  nigh, — 

"  The  pale-faced  warrior  bring — the  brave 

Shriek  o'er  the  valley  for  their  slave,-— 
I  hear  them  in  the  owl's  wild  cry, 
The  wolfs  sharp  clamors — he  must  die  ! 
No  coward  he  to  shrink  from  death, 
But  shouting,  in  his  latest  breath, 

Its  pangs  he  will  defy  : — 
It  joys  my  soul  in  such  a  fate, 
Which,  though  the  agony  be  great, 

Can  still  exulting  sing, — 
Of  braves,  the  victims  to  his  brand, 
Whose  crowding  ghosts  about  him  stand, 
To  bear  him  to  the  spirit-land 

On  swift  and  subject  wing  !" 

XI. 

The  block  is  prepared, 
The  weapon  is  bared, 
And  the  -warriors  are  nigh  with  their  tomahawks 
rear'a  ; 

The  prisoner  they  bring 
In  the  midst  of  the  ring, 


POCAHONTAS.  213 

And  the  king  bids  the  circle  around  him  be  clear'd. 
The  wrath  on  his  brow,  at  the  sight 

Of  the  prisoner  they  bring  to  his  doom, 
Now  kindles  his  eye  with  a  lordly  delight, 
As  the  lightning-flash  kindles  the  gloom. 
He  rises,  he  sways,  with  a  breath, 
And  hush'd  grows  the  clamor  of  death  ; 
Falls  the  weapon  that  groan'd  with  the  thirst 
To  drink  from  the  fountain  accurst ; 
Stills  the  murmur  that  spoke  for  the  hate 
That  chafed  but  to  wait  upon  fate. 

How  trembled  then  the  maid,  as  rose 
That  captive  warrior  calm  and  stern, 

Thus  girded  by  the  wolfish  foes 

His  fearless  spirit  still  would  spurn  ; 
How  bright  his  glance,  how  fair  his  face, 
And  with  what  proud  enfranchised  grace 

His  footsteps  free  advance,  as,  still, 
He  follow'd  firm  the  bloody  mace 
That  guided  to  the  gloomy  place 

Where  stood  the  savage  set  to  kill ! 

How  filPd  her  soul  with  dread  dismay, 
Beholding  in  his  form  and  air 

How  noble  was  the  unwonted  prey 
Thus  yielded  to  the  deathsman  there  ! 

Still  fearless,  though  in  foreign  land, 

No  weapon  in  his  fetter'd  hand, 

Girt  by  a  dark  and  hostile  band 


214  POCAHONTAS. 

That  never  knew  to  spare  ! 
His  limbs  but  not  his  spirit  bound. 
How  looks  the  godlike  stranger  round, 
As  heedless  of  the  doom,  as  when, 
In  sight  of  thirty  thousand  men, 
He  stood  by  Regall's  walls,  and  elew 
The  bravest  of  her  chiefs  that  came 

His  best  in  beauty's  sight  to  do, 
And  seeking  honor,  finding  shame  ! 
As  little  moved  by  fate  and  fear, 

As  when,  in  fair  Charatza's  smile 
Exulting,  he  was  doom'd  to  bear 

The  Tartar's  blows  and  bondage  vile — 

And  slew  him  in  his  resolute  mood, 

Though  Terror's  worst  beside  him  stood, 
And  all  her  sleuthhounds  follow'd  fast, 

Death,  hunger,  hate,  a  venomous  brood, 
Where'er  his  flying  footsteps  past.* 
Not  now  to  shrink,  though,  in  his  eyes, 

Their  eager  bands,  at  last  elate, 
Have  track'd  him  where  the  bloodstone  lies, 

And  mock  him  with  the  show  of  fate  ! 
With  courage  still,  as  proud  as  theirs, 
He  keeps  a  soul  that  laughs  at  fears  ; 
Too  proud  for  grief,  too  brave  for  tears, 
Their  tortures  still  he  mocks,  and  boasts 
His  own  great  deeds,  the  crowding  hosts, 

*  See  the  Life  of  Captain  John  Smith. 


POCAHONTAS.  215 

That  witness'd,  and  the  shrieking  ghosts 

His  violent  arm  set  free  ; 
And,  while  his  heart  dilates  in  thought 
Of  glorious  deeds,  in  lands  remote, 

The  pride  of  Europe's  chivalry, 
It  seem'd  to  those  who  gazed,  that  still 
The  passion  of  triumph  seem'd  to  fill — 
While  nerving  well,  with  deathless  will — 

The  exulting  champion's  heart  ! 
Half  trembled  then  the  savage  foe, 
Lest  sudden,  from  the  unseen  bow, 
He  still  might  send  the  fatal  blow, 

He  still  might  wing  the  dart. 
But  soon — as  o'er  the  captive's  soul 
Some  tender  memories  seem'd  to  roll, 
Like  billowy  clouds  that,  charged  with  streams, 
Soon  hide  in  saddest  gloom  the  gleams 
Of  the  imperial  sun,  and  hush, 
In  grief,  the  day's  dilating  flush 
Of  glory  and  pride — the  triumph  fell, — 
The  soul  obey'd  the  sudden  spell 
A  dream  of  love  that  kindled  far, 
In  youth,  beneath  the  eastern  star, 
Is  passing  from  his  hope  to  be 
The  last,  best  light  of  memory. 
Soft  grew  the  fire  within  his  eyes, 
One  tear  the  warrior's  strength  defies,— 
His  soul  one  moment  falters — then, 

As  if  the  pliancy  were  shame, 


216  FOCAHONTAS. 

Dishonoring  all  his  ancient  fame, 
He  stood  ! — the  master-man  of  men  ' 

XII. 

That  moment's  sign  of  weakness  broke 

The  spell  that  still'd  the  crowd  !  The  chief 
With  mockery  in  his  accent,  spoke — 

For  still  the  savage  mocks  at  grief— 
"  No  more  !  why  should  th'  impatient  death 
Delay,  till  with  the  woman's  breath, 
Her  trembling  fears,  her  yearning  sigh 

For  life,  but  vainly  kept  with  shame, 

He  wrongs  his  own  and  people's  name  ' 
I  would  not  have  the  warrior  die, 
Nor,  to  the  last,  with  battle  cry, 

Exulting,  shout  his  fame  ! 
Spare  him  the  crime  of  tears,  that  flow, 
A  sign  of  suffering  none  should  know, 
But  he  who  flings  aside  the  bow, 

And  shrinks  the  brand  to  bear  ; 
Let  not  our  sons  the  weakness  see, 
Lest  from  the  foe  in  shame  they  flee, 
And,  by  their  arms  no  longer  free, 

Grow  captive  to  their  fear  : 
For  him  ! — I  pity  while  I  scorn 
The  tribe  in  which  the  wretch  was  born ; 

And,  as  I  gaze  around, 
I  glad  me  that  mine  aged  eye 
Sees  none,  of  all  who  gather  nigh, 


POCAHONTAS.  217 

Who  dread  to  hear  the  warwhoop  sound, 
Not  one  who  fears  to  die  !" 

XIII. 

They  cast  the  prisoner  to  the  ground, 

With  gyves  from  neighboring  vines  they  bound 

His  brow  upon  the  ancient  rock 

They  laid  with  wild  and  bitter  mock, 

That  joy'd  to  mark  the  deep  despair 

That  moment  in  the  prisoner's  eye, 
As  sudden,  swung  aloft  in  air, 

He  sees  the  bloody  mace  on  high  ! 
But  not  for  him  to  plead  in  fear — 
No  sign  of  pity  comes  to  cheer, 
And,  with  one  short,  unwhisper'd  prayer, 

He  yields  him  up  to  die. 
Keen  are  the  eyes  that  watch  the  blow, 
Impatient  till  the  blood  shall  flow, 
A  thousand  eyes  that  gloating  glow, 

In  eager  silence  hush'd  : 
The  arm  that  wings  the  mace  is  bending, 
The  instrument  of  death  descending, — 
A  moment,  and  the  mortal  sinks, 

A  moment,  and  the  spirit  soars, 
The  earth  his  parting  life-blood  drinks, 

The  spirit  lands  on  foreign  shores  : 
A  moment !— and  the  maiden  rush'd 
From  the  low  stone,  where  still  affrighted, 

Scarce  dreaming  what  she  sees  is  true, 


218  POCAHONTAS 

With  visum  dim,  with  thoughts  benighted, 

She  sate,  as  doom'd  for  slaughter  too  ; — 
And  stay'd  the  stroke  in  its  descent, 
While  on  her  fairy  knee  she  bent, 
Pass'd  one  arm  o'er  the  prisoner's  brow, 

Above  his  forehead  lifts  her  own, 
Then  turns — with  eye  grown  tearless  now, 

But  full  of  speech,  as  eye  alone 
Can  speak  to  eye  and  heart  in  prayer — 

For  mercy  to  her  father's  throne  ! 
Ah  !  can  she  hope  for  mercy  there  ? 

XIV. 

And  what  of  him,  that  savage  sire  ? 

Oh  !  surely  not  in  vain  she  turns 
To  where  his  glance  of  mortal  ire 

In  lurid  light  of  anger  burns. 
A  moment  leapt  he  to  his  feet, 

When  first  her  sudden  form  is  seen, 
Across  the  circle  darting  fleet, 

The  captive  from  the  stroke  to  screen. 
Above  his  head,  with  furious  whirl, 

The  hatchet  gleams  in  act  to  fly  ; 
But,  as  he  sees  the  kneeling  girl, 

The  glances  of  her  pleading  eye, — 
The  angel  spirit  of  mercy  waves 

The  evil  spirit  of  wrath  away, 
And  all  accords,  ere  yet  she  craves 

Of  that  her  eye  alone  can  pray. 


POCAHONTAS.  219 

fetrange  is  the  weakness,  born  of  love, 

That  melts  the  iron  of  his  soul, 
And  lifts  him,  momently,  above 

His  passions  and  their  dark  control. 
And  he  who  pity  ne'er  had  shown 

To  captive  of  his  bow  and  spear, 
By  one  strong  sudden  pulse  has  grown 

To  feel  that  pity  may  be  dear 
As  vengeance  to  the  heart, — when  still 

Love  keeps  one  lurking-place  and  gr^vr*, 
Thus  prompted  by  a  woman's  will, 

Triumphant  over  a  thousand  foes 
'Twas,  as  if  sudden,  touch'd  by  Heaven, 
The  seal  that  kept  the  rock  was  riven  ; 
As  if  the  waters,  slumbering  deep, 

Even  from  the  very  birth  of  light, 
Smote  by  its  smile,  had  learn'd  to  leap, 

Rejoicing,  to  their  Maker's  sight : 
How  could  that  stern  old  king  deny 
The  angel  pleading  in  her  eye, — 
How  mock  the  sweet  imploring  grace, 
That  breathed  in  beauty  from  her  face, 
And  to  her  kneeling  action  gave 

A  power  to  sooth,  and  still  subdue, 
Until,  though  humble  as  the  slave, 

To  more  than  queenly  sway  she  grew  ? 
Oh  !  brief  the  doubt, —  Oh  !  short  the  strife. 
She  wins  the  captive's  forfeit  life  ; 
She  breaks  his  bands,  she  bids  him  go, 


220  POCAHONTAS. 

Her  idol,  but  her  country's  foe, 
And  dreams  not,  in  that  parting  hour, 

The  gyves  that  from  his  limbs  she  tears, 
4re  light  in  weight,  and  frail  in  power, 

To  those  that  round  her  heart  she  wears. 


Utah's  €l)arm. 

BY  ANNA  CORA  MO  WATT. 

'Twas  not  the  features — not  the  form — 

The  eyes'  celestial  blue — 
'Twas  not  the  blushes  soft  and  warm — 

The  lips'  vermilion  hue— 
The  waving  of  her  golden  hair — 

The  beauty  of  her  face, — 
Though  hers,  in  sooth,  was  very  fair, — ■ 

Nor  e'en  her  matchless  grace  ! 

He  gazed  upon  her  speaking  eye, 

But  'twas  the  soul  to  see  ; 
He  mark'd  the  glance,  the  smile,  the  sighj 

T'  at  spake  of  Purity  : 
He  sought  the  charms  that  long  endure, 

That  beauteous  make  the  mind  ; 
He  only  loved  the  jewel  pure 

That  this  fair  casket  shrined. 


0dfi5l)nes5. 


BY  MISS  E.  JANE  CATE. 


"  Yes,  mother,  but  one  cannot  endure  having  the 
house  torn  down  about  one's  ears  !  Who  could  eat 
or  study,  I  wonder  !  One  might  I  suppose  with  Miss 
Harriet ;  for  I  fancy  she  is  given  to  solitude,  poetry- 
writing,  revery,  and  long  rambles  ;  and  I  could  man- 
age to  live  a  month  under  the  same  roof  with  a  young 
lady,  if  she  would  sometimes  keep  out  of  my  way. 
But  that  Susan  !  Ah,  from  such  as  her,  '  ye  minis- 
ters of  grace  defend  us  !'  " 

There  was  the  look  of  supplication  in  his — I  mean 
Harry  Porter's — eye,  and  its  feeling  was  evidently  in 
his  heart  as  he  spoke.  His  sister  sat  near  him  with 
her  finger-point  resting  on  the  page  she  had  been 
reading,  conjecturing,  all  the  while,  what  faculty  in 
its  extraordinary  development,  or  what  in  its  want  of 
growth  or  activity,  induced  such  unreasonableness, 
when  woman  was  in  the  question,  in  her  otherwise 
reasonable  brother.  It  came  in  fact  from  his  selfish- 
ness. He  chose  to  sit  and  fold  his  hands  in  his  lux- 
urious idleness,  to  wait  for  his  mother,  his  sister,  his 


222  SELFISHNESS. 

friends  to  come  and  minister  to  him,  rather  .han  tt 
arouse  himself,  looking  about  him,  and  saying, — 
"  Who — who  has  dropped  her  fan  ?  What  lady  would 
like  being  helped  to  coffee  ?  to  crossing  a  brook  ?  t< 
jumping  an  immoveable  stile,  then  ?  to  mounting  9 
horse,  or  any  thing  ?"  rather  than  to  lay  his  hand  op 
his  heart,  or  touch  the  brim  of  his  hat,  whispering, 
"Your  most  devoted,  madam."  All  these  things 
were  his  utter  aversion. 

Sad  pity  it  is  that  such  a  man  should  ever  loob 
upon  the  like  of  Susan  Nesmith.  He  is  incapable 
of  understanding  her  cheerful  and  self-sacrificing  ex- 
ertions for  his  happiness  ;  or  he  may  do  this  at  last 
when  the  grave  has  closed  over  her,  forever  shutting 
out  those  yearning  acknowledgments,  which  are  set- 
tling back  like  lead  upon  his  heart ;  he  can  learn  then 
the  value  of  what  was  so  lately  all  his  own,  by  its 
irretrievable  loss. 

Harry  sat  a  few  moments  with  his  chin  resting  on 
his  bosom  ;  then,  throwing  his  book  on  the  table, 
he  started  nervously  up,  and  began  pacing  the  floor. 
"  But  that  Susan  !  one  can  know  just  what  she  will 
be  from  her  letters  to  you,  Vin,  and  from  what  I 
have  heard  you  say  of  her  pranks  at  the  Seminary." 

"  Why,  brother,  you  know  I  have  told  you  forty 
times  already,  that  her  pranks,  as  you  call  them, 
were  but  so  many  good,  kind  expedients  to  wake  up 
some  sleepy  head,  cheer  some  dull  heart,  or  to  do 
good  in  some  way  to  some   person,  without  making 


SELFISHNESS.  22H 

such  a  tedious  parade  about  it  as  most  people  do 
'  Our  home  missionary,'  we  used  to  call  her,  she 
was  so  good,  so  useful,  and  so  beloved." 

"Yes,  so  you  say.  But  what,  I  would  like  to 
know,  about  that  strange  confession  in  one  of  ner 
letters  to  you,— that,  after  all,  there  is  nothing  on 
earth  so  fine  as  wearing  magnificent  dresses,  prome- 
aading  Broadway,  and  breaking  hearts." 

"  Ha  !  I  do  not  know  what  of  that,  indeed.  But 
*■  believe  she  had  some  good  reason,  because  she  al- 
vays  has  for  every  thing  she  does,  as  one  can  see  by 
■bserving  her  closely,  although  she  never  profess- 
es any.  I  am  delighted  at  the  thought,  Hal  !  I 
know  she  will  play  upon  you.  I  only  long  to  see 
what  armes  offensives  she  may  employ."  Vinia's  laugh 
sounded  harshly  enough  in  the  ear  of  her  sensitive 
brother.  "  And  you  know" — resumed  she,  "  you 
know" — 

"  Yes,  I  know  !  chat  is,  I  know  there  will  be  no 
guch  things  as  writing  or  study  in  the  whole  month 
that  she  is  in  the  house.  The  first  thing  one  will 
know,  when  one  is  reading,  she  will  creep  slyly  be- 
hind one,  and  blind  one's  eyes,  or  pull  one's  hair,  or 
pinch  one's  ears,  or  snatch  away  one's  book  and  hide 
with  it  in  a  corner." 

Still  Vmia  and  her  mother  laughed.  And  Harry 
laughed,  too,  in  spite  of  the  real  vexation  he  felt,  as 
in  fancy  he  saw  "  that  Susan"  running  off  with  his 
book  under  her  arm 


224  SELF  I  SI  IN  I  SS. 

"'  And  yet,  Hal,"  said  Vinia,  "  yet,  although  J 
laugh  at  you,  I  do  think  you  are  very,  very  odd.  If 
you  were  a  poet,  it  would  all  do  well  enough.  Then 
you  might  run  when  you  heard  a  lady  coming,  and 
immure  yourself,  and  commit  all  sorts  of  absurdities, 
and  it  would  be  resolvable  into  poetic  phrensy.  But 
Harry  Porter,  with  his  cool  head  and  cooler,  heart, 
who  spends  his  days  in  selling  silks  and  molasses, 
butter  and  salt — " 

"  Silks  and  molasses,  butter  and  salt,  Vin  !"  echo- 
ed Harry,  now  laughing  outrageously. 

"  Yes ;  and  his  nights  in  reading — what  are  you 
reading  now,  brother — Zenophon  ? — Yes,  and  his 
nights  in  reading  Zenophon  !  What  could  be  more 
incongruous  ?"  She  pointed  her  pretty  finger  at  him, 
as,  laughing  and  shaking  her  head,  she  courtesied 
herself  backward  out  of  the  room. 

Harry  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  door  where  she  had 
disappeared,  and  his  thoughts  on  that  Susan,  half  in 
dread,  and  half  in  an  undefined  pleasure  of  some 
sort. 

Harry  was  sure  he  never  saw  stage-coach  horses 
cross  his  mother's  carriage-sweep  with  so  lofty  a 
grace,  or  stageman's  whip  describe  so  exactly  "  the 
curve  of  beauty,"  or  waiting-boy  throw  down  the 
steps  with  such  courteous  alacrity,  as  on  that  beauti- 
ful June  evening  which  introduced  Susan  Nesmith  to 
the  home  of  the  Porters.  "  Ah  !  just  the  mischiev- 
ous, bell-like  laugh  I  knew  she  would  have,"  sighed 


SELFISHNESS.  285 

Harry,  as,  with  a  laugh  of  joy,  Susan  bounded  into 
the  open  arms  of  her  friend  Vinia.  "  And  her  eyes  V 
He  was  looking  through  the  blind  ;  and  when  the 
girls  came  laughing  and  chatting  up  the  walk  and  to 
the  door,  then  Hal  ran  !  Tell  it  not, — yet  he  ran  ! 
Poor  fellow  !  Instead  of  giving  himself  up  to  delight 
in  his  sister's  happiness,  and  casting  his  own  mite  in- 
to the  welcome  which  was  to  make  the  stranger  at 
home  in  her  new  abode,  he  thought  only — How  she 
will  plague  one  !  How  one  will  be  annoyed  with  her 
manner,  her  eyes,  her  laugh,  and  her — ah,  dear  ! 
"  there'll  be  nae  luck  about  the  house  till  that  Su- 
san is  awa." 

And  yet  there  was.  True,  Susan  ran  off  with  his 
books  ;  hid  Zenophon  once  for  a  whole  week,  and  he 
growling  at  her  all  the  while.  But  he  was  conscious 
of  relief  by  his  forced  cessations  from  study  ;  and 
folded  his  arms,  and  rocked,  and  rested  his  brain,  and 
thought  of  "  that  Susan."  Moreover,  she  dragged 
him  off  to  moonlit  saunterings  with  herself  and  Vinia. 
He  grumbled  then,  likewise  ;  but  Susan  was  only 
the  more  persevering,  the  more  frolicksome.  At 
these  hours,  Harry  could  not  deny  it  to  himself,  that 
he  felt  a  warmth  and  happiness  stealing  into  his 
heart,  and  over  his  whole  being,  equally  novel  and 
grateful  to  him.  Yet  do  not  suppose  that  he  ac- 
knowledged this.  No ;  for,  although  he  did  often 
betray  himself,  by  his  gratified  looks  and  animated 
speech,  still,  if  appealed  to  for  confessions,  even  with 


'226  SELFISHNESS. 


the  gentlest  grace,  the  softest  tones,  and  the  most  be 
seeching  looks,  he  only  growled  again,  and  turned 
away  to  hide  any  treacherous  indications  of  gratifica- 
tion there  might  be.  But  Mrs.  Porter  and  her  daugh- 
ter felt  that  now  again  there  were  life  and  light  in 
the  house  ;  and  it  had  seemed  so  empty  and  cold  to 
them,  especially  to  the  mother,  since  the  husband 
and  father  died  two  years  ago.  Much  of  the  time 
since  then,  Vinia  had  been  away  finishing  her  stu- 
dies. Harry,  as  he  had  been  these  many  years,  was 
swallowed  up  in  his  business  by  day,  and  his  studies 
by  night.  He  was  never  what  we  call  unkind,  un- 
courteous.  Yet  really  kind,  really  courteous,  he  cer- 
tainly was  not.  He  conducted  his  mother  to  church, 
was  observant  enough  of  all  the  mere  forms  of  good- 
breeding.  He  saw  to  it  carefully  that  she  wanted  no- 
thing ;  took  some  pains  to  procure  company  for  her — 
matrons,  of  course — and  books.  But  in  all  this  his 
manner  was  cold.     He  was  thinking  most  of  self. 

Woman  has  been  called,  often,  the  sunlight  of  her 
home.  Then  is  not  man  the  glorious  sun  itself? 
That  is,  if  he  is  truly  gentle  and  considerate  ;  if  he 
goes  about  the  house  with  a  clear  and  open  manner, 
seeing  to  this  thing  and  that  thing ;  that  nothing  is 
lacking,  that  nothing  annoys  ;  or,  at  least,  sharing  by 
his  ever-ready  sympathies  the  trials  which  he  cannot 
avert  ?  But  if  he  is  odd  and  selfish  like  Harry  Porter  ! 
Ah  !  Heaven  help  the  wife  of  such  a  man  !  Heaven 
help  Susan  ;  for  after  her  return  home,  when  Ham/ 


SELFISHNESS.  22"? 

found  that  he  missed  her  always,  that  life  could  not 
be  endured  without  her,  he  wrote  and  told  her  so, 
humbly  begging  her  to  be  his  wife.  This  earnest 
frankness  was  unprecedented  in  the  deeds  of  Harry 
Porter ;  and  it,  together  with  her  desires  to  take  him 
and  his  happiness  to  her  own  tender  keeping,  won 
Susan.  Alas,  for  the  revulsion  she  was  to  witness  ! 
Alas,  that  the  transient  devotion  of  the  lover  was 
completely  nullified  by  the  long,  long  years  of  cold, 
abstracted  selfishness  of  the  husband  ! 

Bear  me  witness,  ye  wives  and  mothers,  ye  good 
and  careful  ones,  that  there  are  days  when  things  go 
wrong  the  whole  house  over  ;  when  your  husband  is 
particularly  unreasonable,  expecting  roasts  for  din- 
ner, when  he  ought  to  know  that  the  larder  is  minus 
all  essentials  ;  looking  awry  at  linens,  with  which 
yourself,  or  your  laundress  at  your  injunction,  have 
taken  the  greatest  pains  ;  and  bringing,  without  inti- 
mation, guests  to  dine, — bachelor  friends,  for  whom 
he  expects  you  to  furnish  ten  thousand  incontroverti- 
ble arguments  in  favor  of  matrimony ;  when  your 
children  run  against  open  doors,  and  corners  of  ta- 
bles ;  contend  about  the  kitten  to  which  they  all  have 
mutual  claims  ;  and  wake  the  baby ;  and  when  the 
utmost  that  you  can  say  or  do,  only  adds  to  the  clamor 
and  increases  the  difficulties.  And  confess  to  my 
conjecture,  that  these  days  come  to  you  when,  upon 
waking  in  the  morning,  you  find  yourself  feverish 
and  unrefreshed  ;  or  when  nervous  headache  or  Ian 


228  SELFISHNESS. 

guor  steal  upon  you  afterward  ;  or  when,  from  some 
cause  not  understood,  you  seem  to  have  "nerves 
protruding  at  every  pore,"  against  which  everybody 
in  the  house  is  running.  These  are  times  of  trial 
for  the  woman  whose  aim  it  is  to  do  constantly 
what  is  noble  and  wise  ;  however  they  may  be 
regarded  by  her  whose  nerves  are  of  iron,  who 
can  scold  her  way  through  all  such  difficulties,  or 
run  away  from  them  without  any  compunctions. 
She,  the  former,  can  stand  by  sick  beds,  and  feel  her 
strength  and  her  life  fail,  day  by  day.  She  can  shut 
the  dying  lid,  even  although  her  heart  seems  "  crush- 
ed in  the  closing  of  its  portal  upon  the  departed  one." 
She  can  cross  the  wide  seas,  and  tread  the  burning 
sands  of  heathen  climes,  if  her  eyes  are  dimmed  at 
partings,  if  her  heart  does  bleed,  if  her  feet  are 
scorched  and  weary ;  for  all  these  are  the  heavy 
trials  which  every  one  who  looks  on  can  under- 
stand;  and  to  which  every  one  brings  those  kind 
sympathies  which  divide  the  sufferings  they  commis- 
erate. And  these,  too,  are  the  trials  which,  unaide  i 
by  an  infinite  power,  woman  feels  that  she  cannot 
bear.  She  therefore  prays.  In  childlike  humility 
and  trust,  she  goes  to  the  foot  of  the  Cross,  and, 
thank  Heaven !  there  she  leaves  her  burden.  She 
makes  her  way,  then,  with  the  cheerful  eye  and 
heart,  and  with  the  strong  voice  of  faith.  Not  so  is 
it  wont  to  be  in  what  we  call  the  trifling  vexations  of 
lite.     Not.  so  was  it  with  our  good  Susan,  our  home 


SELFISHNESS.  229 

missionary,  on  the  morning  in  which  we  shall  again 
present  her  to  the  reader. 

Ten  years  she  had  been  the  wife  of  that  unreason 
able  body,  Harry  Porter.     She  had,  in  the  time,  had 
many  seasons  of  failure  in  duty,  or  in  success  ;  many 
heart-sickening  discouragements.     She  would  have 
had  some  of  these,  doubtless,  under  the  most  favora- 
ble circumstances.     Yet  how  few  comparatively,  and 
how  easily  they  could  have  been  borne,  if  her  hus- 
band had  been  all  that  strong  man  should  be  to  weak, 
dependent  woman!     She  ne.   r   complained;    and 
this  was  the  reason  that  Harry's  eyes  were  never 
opened  to  her  wants  and  his  duties.     But  ah  !  how 
often,  when  grieved  by  the   intractableness  of  her 
children,  or  when  worn  by  her  domestic  cares,  had 
she  longed  to  have  him  open  his  arms  and  pillow  her 
head  on  his  bosom  !     It  seemed  to  her  that  then  its 
throbbings  would  be   stilled,  and  its  fever  cooled. 
But  no.     He   came  in  from   his  counting-room  at 
night,  sipped  his  tea  and  ate  his  toast ,  his  head  full 
of  checks  and  invoices,  debt  and  credit,  foreign  duties 
and  home  tariffs,  seldom  entering  into  conversation 
with  his  wife,  or  attending  to   the  wants  of  the  chil- 
dren.     Supper    over,    he   repaired   immediately   to 
his  study,  and  was  soon  forgetful  that  there  were 
such  things  in  the  world  as  business,  wife,  and  chil- 
dren. 

"A  pity  that  Harry  lived   so   long   unmarried," 
said  Mrs.  Porter  one  evening,  in  soothing  tones  to 


230  SELFISHNESS. 

Susan  "He  has  acquired  such  studious  habits 
He  really  does  not  attend  to  you  as  you  deserve — 
as  you  need.  You  should  complain.  He  was  cer- 
cainly  a  good-hearted  boy.  He  is  a  good-hearted 
man  ;  only,  some  way,  it  is  with  him,  as  if  seeing, 
he  saw  not ;  and  hearing,  he  heard  not.  You  should 
tell  him  just  what  you  want.  Tell  him  of  it  when 
you  are  tired,  when  the  children  are  troublesome  • 
and  especially  when  you  have  the  nervous  head 
ache.  I  do  not  see  how  you  can  keep  that  to  your- 
self." 

"  I  do  not  keep  these  things  from  you,  dear  mo- 
ther, although  I  do  not  complain  to  you  " 

"  No,  indeed  !  no  ;  I  can  tell  at  a  glance  how 
things  are  going.  But  Harry  never  looks  round  him 
at  all ;  I  am  sorry  he  does  not.  Will  you  complain 
as  other  women  do,  after  this  ?  Will  you  say — Look 
at  me,  Harry  ;  and  the  children,  see  them  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  mother  !  This  I  could  never  do,"  said 
Susan,  with  a  smile  and  a  sigh.  "  Harry  has  cares 
enough  with  his  business.  I  will  never  add  to  his 
burden." 

"  But  when  his  business  is  over,  Susan,  his  books  ; 
it  is  with  these  I  am  vexed." 

"  He  does  love  his  books,  better,  perhaps — " 
Better  than  the  company  of  his  wife,  she  thought, 
but  she  did  not  say  it ;  for  her  voice  became 
choked.  And  she  would  not,  if  it  had  remained 
clear. 


SELFISHNESS.  231 

44  Poor  girl !  your  head  aches." 

1  Yes,  it  has  ached  all  day,"  said  Susan,  with  fill 
mg  eyes. 

"  Poor  child  !  and  the  children  are  unusually  trou- 
blesome. What  is  the  matter  with  Suzy  ?  I  can 
hear  her  voice.  Why  did  she  not  go  10  school  to- 
day?" 

"  She  went ;  but  I  felt  so  harassed  this  morning, 
the  baby  cried  so  much,  Jamie's  foot  was  so  bad, 
and  he  hurt  it  so  often,  I  really  could  not  attend  to 
her  hard  lesson ;  or  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  could  not. 
She  failed  in  her  recitation.  Nothing  troubles  her 
so  much  as  this ;  and,  on  this  account,  I  take  great 
pains  with  her  usually.  I  might  have  done  the  same 
this  morning,  perhaps,  if  I  had  maintained  a  proper 
government  over  myself.  But  my  head  was  so  con- 
fused !" 

"  Yes  ;  I  know  how  it  is.  I  used  to  feel  the 
same  ;  but  my  husband  was  so  considerate — so  dif- 
ferent from  Harry.  I  think  his  kindness  led  him  to 
indulge  Harry  too  much.  It  made  him  selfish.  Did 
Suzy  come  from  school  on  that  account  ?" 

"  She  cried,  it  seems  ;  and  while  blinded  by  her 
tears,  ran  against  the  door  of  the  school-room,  and 
bruised  her  face  badly.  I  have  been  bathing  it ;  but 
the  baby  will  not  let  me  be  long  away  from  the  cra- 
dle." Susan's  temples  throbbed  with  increasing  vio- 
lence, the  pressure  upon  her  heart  became  heavier,  and 
every  moment,  her  eyes  filled,  as,  unconsciously  U 
11 


232  SELFISHNESS. 

herself,  she  went  on  unburdening  her  troubles  to  hei 
good  friend. 

"  And  Ellen,"  said  Mrs.  Porter,  "  she  is  generally 
so  quiet  and  orderly  To-day  I  noticed,  when  I  was 
in  the  kitchen,  she  hurries  hither  and  thither,  scarce- 
ly seeming  to  know  what  she  is  doing.  And  she  has 
been  to  you  no  less  than  three  times  with  her  trou- 
bles since  I  came  in." 

"  Ah,  mother,  the  fault  is  all  my  own.  When  my 
head  is  clear  so  that  I  can  look  through  the  day  and 
tell  her  my  plans,  she  always  goes  on  in  a  perfectly 
systematic  way.  Yo:;  ;ee  I  have  no  grounds  of  com- 
plaint ?nywhere.  I  am  myself  the  cause  of  all  these 
misfortunes.  But  I  cannot  help  it.  I  began  the  day 
wrong — " 

"  You  did  not  pray,  Susan." 

"  No,  mother,  I  did  not  ray.  And  now  God 
seems  afar  off ;  and  I  need  him  as  much  in  such  lit- 
tle trials,  as  T  do  in  the  great  afflictions ;  do  not  you, 
dear  mother  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  and  it  is  beautiful  that  we  do.  This  makes 
us  draw  near  to  him  daily,  many  times  in  a  day  ;  and 
so  he  draws  near  to  us  ;  and  this  is  our  true  happi- 
ness. But  do  not  weep,  my  dear  child.  It  will  on- 
ly make  your  head  ache  worse.  Has  Harry  been  in 
since  breakfast  ?  Does  he  know  how  it  is  with  you 
and  the  children  ?" 

"  No  ;  he  has  not  been  in.  I  fear  I  offended  him 
this  morning  ;  yet  T  did  not  mean  it, — I  certainly 


SELFISHNESS.  033 

•lid  not  mean  it !"  Now  Susan  wept  without  re- 
straint.  Her  mother  tenderly  drew  her  head  to  her 
bosom  ;  and  while  she  bathed  it  in  cologne,  she  re- 
peated  to  her  a  few  precious  Scripture  promises. 
These  seemed  to  lift  Susan  above  her  cares.  In  h<  aH 
she  prayed,  and  in  heart  became  calm  and  grateful. 

Her  mother  left  her  ;  and  in  a  moment  her  hus- 
oand  appeared  at  the  open  door  of  the  sitting-room. 
Evidently  he  had  been  in  his  study  and  overheard 
the  conversation  between  his  wife  and  mother.  With 
a  kindly  beaming  eye  and  gentle  manner,  he  ap- 
proached the  sofa  where  his  wife  was  sitting.  She 
felt  instinctively  drawn  to  him,  and,  half  rising,  she 
held  out  her  hand.  He  held  it  a  moment  to  his 
heart ;  then  seating  her  and  himself,  he  encircled  her 
in  his  arms  ;  and  there,  "  lip  to  lip,  pulse  to  pulse, 

and  heart  to  heart,"  they  felt  that  then,  indeed,  they 

were  one. 

How  beautiful  was  life  to  them  after  this  !     How 

sweetly  went  the  days  and  the  evenings  by  !     And 

how  lightly  fell  her  household  cares  on  Susan,  now 

that  the  thought  was  forever  in  her  heart — He  loves 

me  ;  he  feels  for  me. 

Happy  for  those  in  whom  this  bond  of  union  and 

sympathy  is  made  perfect,  before  entering  together 

upon  the  trials  and  pleasures  of  wedded  life. 

"  And  happy  for  those  in  whom  it  is  made  perfect 

even  at  the  eleventh  hour  !"  would  Susan  and  hei 

husband  say. 


Sonnet. 

THE  FIRST  LOCK  OF  GRAY  HAIR. 

BY  THOMAS  W.   RENNE. 

Alas  .  pale  monitor  of  life's  decline, 

First  hoar  of  five-and-forty  winters  pass'd,— 
And  from  that  warning,  prophet  look  of  thine, 
It  needs  no  sage's  wisdom  to  divine 

Thou  art  not  of  thy  kind  the  first  and  last,- 
What  word  of  friendly  counsel  dost  thou  bring  ? 

What  promise  bright — to  cheer  the  coming  years 
What  hope — around  the  heart  its  light  to  fling, 
And  gild  life's  winter  with  the  flowers  of  spring  ? 

What  joy — repaying  former  clouds  and  tears  ? — 
I  read  thy  answer, — counsel  heavenly  wise — 

With  promise  sure  that  he  who  heeds,  shall  find 
Hope  radiant  with  the  glory  of  the  skies, 

And  joys  immortal  living  as  the  mind. 


Be  ©rue  to  ®l)gself 

BY  THE  REV.   RUFUS  W.   GRISWOLD. 

The  base,  craven-hearted,  quail  under  the  blow 
The  strong  give  the  weak,  and  the  proud  give  the 

low  : 
But  he  who  can  back  on  a  true  spirit  fall, 
No  wrong  can  excite,  and  no  danger  appal. 
The  vision  of  others  is  bound  by  the  sky, 
But  he  far  beyond  it  a  home  can  descry  ; 
And  he  knows  that  by  Truth,  he  its  glories  shall 

win : — 
He  who's  false  to  himself  can  ne'er  enter  therein. 

Be  true  to  thyself :— what  though  perils  assail, 

And  thou  standest  alone  in  the  pitiless  gale  ; 

Thou  art  lord  of  one  soul— thou  art  king  of  one 

realm, 
Which  no   strong  arm  can  conquer,  no  wave  can 

o'erwhelm — 
That  shall  last,  and  grow  brighter  as  nations  decay, 
That  shall  nourish,  still  young,  when  the  stars  fade 

away ; — 
If  true  to  thyself,  thou  thyself  dost  control  ;— 
Oh,  there  is  no  empire  so  great  as  the  soul ! 


Stye  Slurk  anir  tys  JDominton0. 

BY  THE  REV.   S.   W.   FISHER,  A.   M. 

We  know  of  no  one  system  of  false  religion,  that 
either  embodies  more  truth,  or  possesses  a  history 
more  replete  with  interest  than  that  of  Mohammed.  Of 
course  we  exclude  from  this  comparison  the  various 
corruptions  of  our  own  Christianity.  Passing  be- 
yond the  pale  of  nominal  Christendom,  it  will  be 
difficult  to  institute  a  comparison  with  any  or  all 
other  false  systems  of  religious  belief,  that  will  not 
issue  favorably  to  Islamism.  We  turn  from  pagan 
ism,  even  when  enshrined  in  temples  of  Grecian  art, 
and  celebrated  in  groves  of  natural  loveliness,  as  the 
surgeon,  from  the  mortified  limb  of  his  patient— as 
the  naturalist,  from  the  poisonous  fungi  that  accu- 
mulate upon  the  trunk  of  the  noblest  trees  of  the 
forest.  There,  might  have  been  poetry  in  its  origin ; 
in  the  dim  antiquity  from  which  it  dates,  there  is 
room  for  a  vivid  imagination  to  robe  it  in  garments 
of  matchless  taste  and  beauty  ;  but  when  we  set  be- 
hind the  scenes,  when  we  penetrate  their  temples  and 
ascend  their  lofty  altars,  the  horrid  reality  fills  the 


THE  TURK  AND  Ills  DOMINIONS.  837 

mind  with  the  most  intense  disgust.     At  a  distance 
their  religion,  like  their  temple,  with   its   pompoJ 
shows  and  gorgeous  ceremonies,  is  full  of  enchant- 
ment;  but  no  sooner  is  the  temple  entered,  than  we 
eel  as  did  Cortez  and  his  officer  on  ascending  the 
mposing  teocalli  in  the  city  of  Mexico,  and  behold- 
ng  there  the  yet  palpitating  hearts  of  human  victims 
oleeding  on  the  altar  of  the  senseless  deity.     Spirit- 
ual worship,  ennobling  views  of  God,  cannot  coexist 
with  such  revolting  images   of  the  Invisible— with 
such  horrible  sacrifices  offered  upon  his  altar. 

When,  then,  emerging  from  such  scenes,  we  enter 
the  mosque,  we  at  once  breathe  more  freely.     Here 
is  no  altar,  no  image,  not  even  a  picture,  on  which 
the  eye  could  repose  and  delight  itself  with  the  ex- 
quisite creations  of  the  pencil  or  the  chisel.     Yet 
here  are  worshippers,  in  crowds  prostrating  them- 
selves  to  the  earth.     Here,  too,  is  preserved  the  great 
idea  of  one  God,   spiritual,   invisible.     Before  him 
alone  the  Moslem  bows  the  knee  in  worship ;  unto 
him  alone  he  offers  his  daily  prayers.     In  these  re- 
spects Mohammed  improved  vastly  upon  the  religion 
of  his  countrymen.     It  is  true,  indeed,  that  he  fired 
his  disciples  with  the  zeal  of  propagandists,  and  put- 
ting the  sword  into  their  hands,  has  shed  more  blood 
in  a  few  centuries  than  did  paganism  in  its  thousands 
of  years.     Yet  this  was  done  openly,  on  the  broad 
field  of  battle,  not  in  secret  or  within  the  doors  of  a 
temple. 


238  THE    TURK    AND    HIS    DOMINIONS. 

The  very  enormities  that  blacken  every  page  ot 
its  history  are  attended  with  circumstances  that  mod- 
ify our  disgust  and  excite  our  interest.  The  pomp 
and  circumstance  of  war — the  splendid  abilities  dis- 
played in  conflict  with  half  the  globe — the  fanati- 
cism that,  absorbing  all  ordinary  passions,  melted  the 
soul  into  one  glowing  mass  of  devotion  to  the  cause 
of  their  prophet,  with  the  deep  and  permanent  do- 
minion it  established  over  various  forms  of  mind, 
conquering  its  conquerors,  and  harmonizing  into  one 
spiritual  sovereignty  the  Arab,  Persian,  Tartar, 
Turk,  and  Moor, — all  tend  to  relieve  the  darkness  of 
the  picture  and  attract  us  to  its  examination.  Even 
the  meanness  of  its  origin  amidst  idols  and  Arabs, 
heightening  the  impression  made  by  the  lightning 
rapidity  with  which  it  spread  from  the  Indus  to  the 
Guadalquiver,  almost  annihilating  in  its  course  the 
most  accomplished  armies  of  Christendom,  deepens 
the  interest.  Nor  is  this  interest  diminished  by  our 
knowledge  of  the  terror  which  seized  upon  the  heart 
of  Europe,  when  the  soldiers  of  the  son  of  Othman 
burst  through  the  walls  of  Constantinople,  then  the 
metropolis  of  civilization,  and  when,  at  a  subsequent 
period,  the  Turk  encamped  around  Vienna,  and  threat- 
ened to  consolidate  his  power  in  one  vast  empire,  on 
the  ruins  of  all  the  thrones  of  Europe. 

But  aside  from  these  circumstances  of  interest  to 
the  world  at  large,  there  are  others  which  peculiarly 
influence  the  Christian  in  his  attention  to  this  form 


THE  TURK  AND  HIS  DOMINIONS.  2.'J9 

of  faith.  It  is  a  system  embracing  vita!  error,  re- 
cent, comparatively,  in  its  origin,  unique  in  its  char- 
acter, vast  in  its  influence,  and,  above  all  other  sys- 
tems, determined  in  its  hostility  to  the  cross.  Espe- 
cially at  this  day,  when  the  lines  of  Providence  are 
converging  towards  one  grand  scene,  and  the  trains  of 
events,  pregnant  with  momentous  issues,  seem  rush- 
ing onward  to  the  final  elevation  of  our  race,  this  re- 
ligion has  drawn  to  itself  the  attention  of  all  Chris- 
tendom, as  a  seemingly  rock-built  fortress,  from 
which  the  influences  of  our  holy  faith  have  as  yet 
not  started  a  single  stone  or  levelled  a  single  but- 
tress. 

It  is  a  remarkable  fact  that  Mohammedanism,  very 
early  in  its  history,  attained  its  largest  extent  of  do- 
minion. The  few  first  years  were  employed  in  pre- 
paration ;  the.  seed  was  germinating  in  the  earth. 
The  great  chief  himself  did  not  march  beyond  the 
limits  of  Arabia.  His  life  was  devoted  to  a  work 
the  most  like  a  miracle  of  any  recorded  in  the  his- 
tory of  this  religion.  He  subdued  the  indomitable 
Ishmaelite.  He  taught  the  robber  bands  that  swarm- 
ed in  every  part  of  the  peninsula,  and  since  the  time 
of  their  great  progenitor  had  known  no  law  but  the 
custom  of  their  tribe  or  the  impulse  of  their  will,  to 
bear  the  yoke  of  his  stern  authority  as  quietly  as 
ever  a  child  submitted  to  a  parent.  Their  prejudice< 
were  rank ;  he  overcame  them.  Their  feuds,  im- 
memorial and  deadly ;  he  terminated  them.     Their 


240  THE    TURK    AND    HIS    DOMINIONS. 

attachment  to  idolatry,  deep  and  violent ;  he  utterly 
eradicated  it.  He  even  amalgamated  these  elements 
of  confusion  into  a  compact  political-social  and  re- 
ligious body,  and  breathed  into  them  an  enthusiastic, 
or  rather  a  fanatical  devotion  to  the  religion  of  the 
Koran.  This  was  the  great  work  of  Mohammed ; 
this  was  the  achievement  that  has  given  him  a  place 
in  the  front  rank  of  men  to  whom  God  has  committed 
the  power  to  create  and  sway  the  empire  of  mind. 
He  forged  and  sharpened  the  sword ;  he  won  over 
the  arm  that  could  wield  it ;  and  then  passed  away. 
The  instruments  of  revolution  and  conquest,  that 
were  to  change  the  aspect  of  the  world,  were  all 
prepared.  The  Saracens,  those  hardy,  bold,  prince- 
ly sons  of  the  desert,  with  all  their  native  vehemence 
poured  into  one  channel,  and  swollen  by  the  force 
of  religious  fanaticism,  panted  for  universal  conquest, 
and  waited  only  for  a  leader  to  guide  to  victory. 

That  locust-king  was  Omar,  the  second  caliph. 
Bold  in  design ;  rapid  in  execution ;  a  monk  in  the 
austerity  of  his  self-discipline  ;  a  noble,  in  the  inde- 
pendence and  elevation  of  his  character ;  so  impar- 
tial in  the  administration  of  justice,  that  it  ripened 
into  a  proverb,  that  Omar's  cane  was  more  terrible 
than  the  sword  of  the  bravest  warrior ;  despising 
luxury,  when  the  treasures  of  half  the  globe  were 
poured  at  his  feet ;  undated,  when  borne  on  the 
flood-tide  of  victory  ;  generous  to  the  public,  niggard 
towards  himself  ;  rearing  splendid  temples  of  worship, 


THE  TURK  AND  HIS  DOMINIONS.  g  |  | 

himself  without  palace  or  court;  as  strict  in  attend 
ing  to  the  minutest  formality  of  this  religion  as  the 
most  rigid  devotee  of  any  one  of  its  thirty-two  mo- 
nastic orders,  yet  as  full  of  martial  enthusiasm  as  the 
boldest  of  his  horsemen,  was  this  patriarchal  mind 
that  now  ascended  the  pulpit  of  the  Caliphate.     With 
such  a  leader  and  such  soldiers,  it  needed  no  prophet 
to  foretell  the  result.     The  prodigious  vigor  they  at 
once  developed  is  seen  in  the  tens  of  thousands  of 
cities,  towns,  castles,  conquered  in  an  incredibly  short 
space  of  time,  and  in  the  smoking  ruins  of  no  less 
than  four  thousand  temples  of  the  pagan,  the  magian, 
and  the  Christian;  while,  as  if  by  the  wand  of  an 
enchanter,    the   mosque   and   minaret   by  hundreds 
everywhere  rose  into  view. 

This  wonderful  Omar,  from  his  unfurnished  tent 
at  Medina,  uttered  his  mandate,  and  instantly  a  total 
change  passes  over  the  face  of  civilized  society  ;  the 
fate  of  nations  is  decided,  and  the  religion  of  the 
prophet  spreads  itself  from  the  Caspian  to  the  Atlan- 
tic.    An  extent  of  empire  Rome  reached  only  after 
the  toil  of  seven  centuries,  the  exile  of  Medina  at- 
tained in  less  than  one ;  and  while  in  less  than  five 
centuries  the  sun  of  Roman  glory  sunk  forever,  the 
dominion  of  the  prophet,  after  eleven  centuries  of 
vast  power,  still  remains.     During  this  period  great 
changes  have  taken  place  without  affecting  the  super- 
ficial area  of  Islamism.     Kingdoms  have  been  lost 
and  won  :  the  Turk  has  been  enthroned  in  Byzan- 


242  THE    TURK    AND    HIS    DOMINIONS. 

Hum ;  but  the  dominion  of  the  Tartar  in  Hindostaa 
*s  in  ruins  ;  the  Moor  has  been  driven  from  Grenada, 
while  the  tombs  and  palaces  of  Delhi  and  Agra,  like 
the  Alhambra,  now  stand  as  the  pyramids  of  Egypt, 
the  memorial  of  a  race  that  has  passed  away. 

The  question  of  chief  interest  to  the  Christian 
world  at  this  time  in  regard  to  this  imposture,  re- 
spects its  seeming  insensibility  to  the  influences  of 
the  Gospel.  Heretofore  it  has  remained  unaffected. 
For  this  result  two  causes  may  be  assigned — the  one 
internal,  the  other  external. 

Mohammedanism  has  usually  been  associated  with 
the  state,  so  intimately  as  to  identify  its  own  exist- 
ence with  the  rule  of  Mohammedans.  It  began  its 
career  with  the  sword.  Its  soldiers  conquered  em- 
pires for  their  prophet.  The  throne  of  the  Caliphs 
at  Babylon  was  rendered  sacred  by  the  presence  of 
his  successors  ;  and  when  the  Turks  overturned  it, 
they  only  came  in  as  spiritual  children  of  the  ascend- 
ed Mohammed.  They  imbibed  the  same  fierce  fa- 
naticism ;  they  fought  to  extend  the  same  miserable 
imposition;  they  adopted  the  same  bloody  statutes 
respecting  infidels  and  apostates.  To  attack  their 
religion  was  to  assault  the  state  ;  apostacy  was  trea- 
son, and  hence  the  fanaticism  of  the  banner  mingled 
with  the  fanaticism  of  the  symbol,  and  the  sword, 
and  the  Koran — war  and  religion,  joined  hands  to  re- 
pel innovation  and  eternize  their  reign.  This  is  that 
double  wall  of  brass  by  which  Islamism  has  long 


THE  TURK  AAI)  HIS  DOMINIONS.  243 

been  girt  about  and  by  which  it  has  resisted  all  for. 
eign  influences. 

To  this  internal  power  of  resistance,  the  character 
of  the  Christianity  opposed  to  it  has  greatly  contribu- 
ted.    The  Greek,  the  Armenian,  the  Roman,  pre- 
sented  to  the  Mohammedan  their  wretched   carica- 
tures  of  our  holy  religion.     A  religion  of  picture- 
worship  and  shows,  wonderfully  like  the  idolatry  of 
the  Caaba,  which   the  Saracen  had  renounced,  in- 
spired disgust.     It  is  a  singular  fact,  that  although 
Islamism  has  held  fast  its  iron  sceptre  for  eleven  cen- 
turies, right  in  the  heart  of  countries  where  true  re- 
ligion once  flourished,  it  has  never  yet  understood 
the  character  of  Christianity.     The  Gospel  has  had 
no  field  for  its  operation.     It  has  been  excluded  to- 
tally, and  miserable  superstitions  have  borne  its  name 
and  disgraced  its  profession.     What  have  the  follow- 
ers of  the  prophet  ever  seen  in  the  miserable  Copt, 
in  the   ignorant  Armenian,  in  the  knavish   and  de- 
graded Greek,  to  inspire  respect  for  Christianity  or 
modify  the  intense  bigotry  of  their  own  fanaticism  ' 
Their  thrice-dead  religion,  like  a  tree  lifeless,  ieafli 
fruitless,  with  no  spreading,  grateful  foliage,  no  lus- 
cious nor  sustaining  fruits,  has  seemed  to  the  .Mos- 
lem's eye  fitter  for  the  flames  than  for  practical  utility. 
Can  any  one  believe  that  the  pure  spiritual  faith  of  a 
Christian  would  have  lived  a  decade  of  centurii  J, 
alongside  of  Mohammedanism,  without  either  Bilent- 
v  infusing  its  own  spirit  into  its  conquerors?  or  awa- 


244  THE    TURK    AND    HIS    DOMINIONS. 

kemng  a  fanatical  opposition  that  would  have 
given  to  the  world  another  tragedy  like  that  which 
followed  the  revocation  of  the  edict  of  Nantes,  and 
swept  the  Huguenots  from  the  soil  of  France  ?  The 
very  same  cause  which  has  so  long  operated  to  de- 
stroy the  vitality  of  religion  on  the  continent  of  Eu- 
rope, and  limit  the  success  of  the  word  of  God,  has 
availed  in  many  Mohammedan  countries  to  neutral- 
ize the  good  influence  of  the  little  Christianity  exist- 
ing there.  Wherever  a  form  has  been  substituted 
for  the  spirit,  ceremonies  for  faith,  tradition  for  the 
Bible,  there  Christianity  dies  out,  and  the  miserable, 
shrivelled  skeleton  that  remains,  like  the  ghastly 
mockery  of  humanity  in  the  glass  case  of  the  anato- 
mist, serves  only  to  repel  the  beholder  from  the  sick- 
ening embrace. 

In  regard  to  both  these  obstacles,  it  seems  to  us 
that  Providence  is  gradually  but  surely  removing 
them.  The  Turkish  empire  undoubtedly  is  now,  as 
it  has  been  for  a  long  time  past,  the  chief  prop  of  Is- 
lamism.  Among  Mohammedans  themselves,  wher- 
ever scattered,  there  is  a  prevailing  impression,  that 
when  Constantinople  falls  the  days  of  their  faith  are 
numbered.  And  we  cannot  but  regard  this  impres- 
sion, from  whatever  source  it  may  have  arisen,  as  in 
accordance  with  probability.  When  this  empire  is 
dissolved,  there  exists  but  a  single  power  of  any 
magnitude,  beneath  which  the  prophet's  faith  can  find 
shelter.    'While  even  the  Persian  throne,  to  which  it 


THE  TURK  AND  HIS   DOMINIONS. 

must  flee,  is  isolated  from  the  great  masa  of  the  Mo- 
hammedan world  by  a  religious  feud,  which  • 
centuries  has  not  been  able  to  heal.     To  us  it  - 
to  be  in  accordance  with  retributive  justice,  that  this 
imposture,  which  began  its  career  with  the   - 
should  perish  by  the  sword:  which  has   floui 
cnly  as  it  has  become  the  very  life  of  a  com,. 
and  cruel  dynasty,  should  participate  in  the  i 
and  final  extinction  of  such  a  dynasty.     Hitherto  it 
has  been  so  thoroughly  interwoven  witli  the  civil  gov- 
ernment, that  you  could  not  destroy  the  one  without 
inflicting  a  deadly  blow  upon  the  other.     But  time, 
that  mighty  leveller  of  empires,  has  not  spared  the 
Turk   any  more  than   the  Saracen.     Infant   nations 
have  swollen  into  gigantic  empires  all  around  him. 
France  bivouacks  her  soldiers  within  the  walls  of 
Algiers  ;   Mohammed  Ali  laughs  at  the  menaces  of 
the  sultan,  from  the  throne  of  the  Pharaohs ;   Syria 
is  torn  by  intestine  war,  and  kept  from  the  grasp  of 
the  Egyptian  rebel  only  by  the  cannon  of  England ; 
while  Russia  has  planted  her  foot  upon  all  his  northern 
provinces,  and  permits  the  sultan  to  enjoy  his  opium 
and  his  harem,  only  as  he  resigns  to  her  the  ke 
the  Euxine.     Meanwhile,  at  home,  royal  debauc 
oppressive  taxation,  and  the  most  ridiculous  govern 
meni,  are  hastening  the  end  of  the  imperial  fan 
The  late  sultan  struggled  manfully  to  renoval 
empire  ;  but,  like  an  empiric  ignorant  of  t: 
his  remedy  rather  aggravated  than  cured   it.      He  in 


246  THE    TURK    AND    HIS    DOMINIONS. 

troduced  the  tailor  to  the  consumptive ;  uniformed 
his  raw  recruits  ;  exterminated  the  old  corps  of  Jani- 
sanes  by  one  mighty  sweep  of  his  cimeter ;  but  left 
his  despotism  unchanged,  his  taxes  unrepealed,  and 
his  son  to  grow  up  in  debauchery.  For  full  a  quar- 
ter of  a  century,  this  empire  has  existed  solely  by 
the  aid  and  sufferance  of  foreign  nations.  It  cannot 
renovate  itself  without  casting  oif  Mohammedanism  ; 
and  to  do  that,  would  be  suicide.  Die  it  must,  unless 
all  probability  should  be  outraged,  and  the  clear  indi- 
cations of  a  century  nullified. 

When  that  time  shall  come,  when  the  cruel  tyran- 
ny which  has  shut  down  all  the  gates  against  know- 
ledge, civilization,  and  pure  religion  shall  have  lost 
the  sceptre,  then,  at  least,  one  barrier,  the  most  tre- 
mendous and  effectual  to  the  spread  of  the  Gospel, 
will  be  removed. 

Meanwhile,  the  same  course  of  events  that  has 
brought  the  empire  to  the  verge  of  ruin,  has  operated 
favorably  to  the  diffusion  of  the  Gospel  among  the 
subject  nations.  Under  the  powerful  protection  of 
Christian  nations — and  to  her  honor  be  it  said,  espe- 
cially of  Christian  England — missionaries  of  Protest- 
ant Christianity  have  labored  there  in  far  more  secu- 
rity than  they  could  enjoy  in  Catholic  countries,  and 
with  no  small  success.  The  Greek,  indeed,  seems 
to  have  resisted  their  influence,  through  the  force  of 
his  ignorant,  superstitious  devotion  to  the  mummeries 
of  his  church  ;  but  the  Armenian  mind,  by  far  the 


THE  TURK  AND  HIS  DOMINIONS.  2H 

most  intelligent  and  active  in  the  Turkish  empire, 
and  destined  in  the  breaking  up  of  this  government, 

we  believe,  to  great  influence,  is  gradually  yielding 
to  the  power  of  truth.  Should  this  good  work  ad- 
vance among  these  nominal  Christians,  until  a  pure 
Christianity  is  suffered  to  give  its  character  to  the 
nation,  there  will  then  be  found  in  the  very  heart  of 
this  empire  a  regenerating  power  as  yet  unknown. 
The  Moslem  will  then  have  a  true  standard  by 
which  to  test  the  Bible  and  the  Koran ;  and  it  is  not 
too  much  to  hope  that  even  he,  surrounded  by  such 
influences,  will  be  brought  to  lay  down  his  native 
barbarism  and  put  on  the  spirit  of  Christ. 

It  is  a  singular  fact,  and  one,  probably,  destined  to 
have  no  small  influence  upon  the  destiny  of  Islam- 
ism,  that  the  followers  of  the  prophet  have  been  for 
centuries  separated  by  a  schism  of  the  most  invete- 
rate character.  Taking  its  rise  in  a  conflict  for  the 
fourth  Caliphate,  between  the  partisans  of  Ali  and 
Mowiyah,  it  has  perpetuated  itself  to  this  hour,  and 
now  forms  an  impassable  gulf  between  the  Ottoman 
and  the  Persian.  The  latter  has  far  more  sympathy 
with  Christian  nations  than  with  the  sultan.  Chris- 
tianity hopes  much  from  his  superior  liberality  and 
intelligence.  The  Persian  and  the  eastern  Moham- 
medans generally  regard  Ah  with  great  reverence,  and 
in  their  worship  render  unto  him  almost  divine  hom- 
age. He  seems  to  be,  in  their  view,  in  part  divine. 
if  we  are  to  judge  from  their  songs  rather  than  then 


-248  THE    TURK    AND    HIS    DOMINIONS. 

creed.  The  following  lyric,  addressed  by  one  of 
their  poets  to  Ali,  we  trust  one  day  will  be  sung 
alike  by  the  Schiite  and  the  Sonnite,  by  the  Persian 
and  the  Ottoman,  to  our  great  Redeemer  and  incar- 
nate God : 

"  Beside  thy  glories,  O  most  great ! 
Dim  are  the  stars,  and  weak  is  fate. 
Compared  to  thy  celestial  light, 
The  very  sun  is  dark  as  night. 
Thine  edicts  destiny  obeys  ; 
The  sun  shows  but  thy  mental  rays. 

"  Thy  merits  form  a  boundless  sea 
That  rolls  on  to  eternity ; 
To  heaven  its  mighty  waves  ascend, 
O'er  it  the  skies  admiring  bend. 
And  when  they  view  its  waters  clear, 
The  wells  of  Eden  dark  appear. 

"  The  treasures  that  the  earth  conceals, 
The  wealth  that  human  toil  reveals, 
The  jewels  of  the  gloomy  mine, 
Those  that  on  regal  circlets  shine  ; 
Are  idle  toys  and  worthless  shows, 
Compared  with  what  thy  grace  bestows. 

"  Mysterious  being  !     None  can  tell 
The  attributes  in  thee  that  dwell ; 
None  can  thine  essence  comprehend ; 
To  thee  should  every  mortal  bend — 
For  'tis  by  thee  that  man  is  given 
To  know  the  high  behests  of  heaven. 


RECOVERY  FROM   SICKNESS.  249 

"The  ocean's  floods  round  earth  that  roll, 
And  lave  the  shores  from  pole  to  pole — 
Beside  the  eternal  fountain's  stream 
A  single  drop,  a  bubble  seem ; 
That  fount's  a  drop  beside  the  sea 
Of  grace  and  love  we  find  in  thee." 


Knot) erg  from  Sickness. 

To  health  again, 
From  bed  of  anguish,  grief,  and  pain, 

I  have  been  raised  : — 
Great  God  of  heaven,  thy  name  be  praised  ' 

Over  my  soul 
Did  waters  deep  of  sorrow  roll : — 

Past  days  ill-spent, 
To  my  sore  pains  their  shadows  lent. 

Warnings  of  death  ! 
May  every  future  fleeting  breath 

Echo  your  voice 
So  I  shun  sin,  the  soul  destroys  : 

That  halcyon  peace 
Be  mine,  when  death  my  soul  release  ; 
Then  heaven's  high  grace 
Shall  fill  my  grateful  songs  through  ceaseless  days. 

p 


aije  £a0t  Intzvnitm. 

BY  MRS.   LYDIA  BAXTER. 

The  parting  hour  had  come — the  appointed  work 
Of  Christ  on  earth  was  done,  for  he  had  borne, 
On  Calvary's  cross,  the  curse  for  guilty  man. 
Had  suffer'd,  died,  and  triumph'd  o'er  the  grave. 
Upon  the  eastern  slope  of  Olivet 
The  chosen  ones  with  Christ  their  Master  stood. 

Upon  their  listening  ears  his  parting  words, 
Like  notes  of  heavenly  music,  sweetly  fell : 
"  Be  ye  my  witnesses  to  Israel's  seed 
And  to  the  Gentile  race.     In  Judea's  land 
And  in  Jerusalem,  Samaria, 
And  e'en  to  earth's  remotest  limits,*  tell 
How  I  have  wept,  and  groan'd,  and  died, 
And  burst  in  twain  the  fetters  of  the  tomb." 

He  stood  with  hands  and  eyes  upraised  to  Heaven ; 
And  as  he  bless'd  the  astonish'd  band,  a  cloud 

*  Acts  i.  8. 


THE   LAST   INTERVIEW.  25  1 

Of  dazzling  brightness  veil'd  him  from  their  sight 
Then  songs  were  heard  in  Heaven.      "  Lift  Up  youi 

heads, 
Ye  gates,  and  let  the  King  of  Glory  in." 
And   prayers   were   heard    on   earth,    in   reverenct 

breathed 

Forth  by  that  lowly  band,  who  prostrate  bow'd 

And  worshipp'd  Him,  who  to  the  realm  of  bliss 

Had  gone  to  take  his  ancient  seat  beside 

The  Father's  throne. 

Full  eighteen  hundred  years 

Have  run  their  race,  and  countless  millions  down 

To  death  have  sunk,  since  thus  the  Saviour  breathed 

Sweet  words  of  mercy  for  a  fallen  world. 

And  millions  yet  ne'er  heard  that  Jesus  died. 

But  lo  !  the  blessed  time  is  drawing  nigh, 

When  Zion's  slumbering  watchmen  shall  awake, 

And  sound  the  alarm  from  Mount  Moriah's  shade 

Gentile  and  Jew  in  love  shall  meekly  bow 

Beneath  the  standard  of  the  Saviour's  cross, 

And  tell  the  triumphs  of  redeeming  love. 

The  scatter'd  sons  of  Israel's  chosen  race 

The  olive  and  the  clust'ring  vine  shall  prune, 

And  worship  on  their  own  beloved  hill 

The  Father  and  the  ever-blessed  Son. 

And  soon  shall  sable  Ethiopia,  too, 

Her  hands  stretch  forth,  in  praises  glorious, 

To  Him  whose  precious  blood  salvation  brought. 

The  isles  that  speck  the  mightv  deep  shall  hear, 
18 


252  THE   LAST    INTERVIEW. 

And  from  the  idols  which  their  hands  have  made 
Shall  rise,  and  grasp  the  precious  saving  truth, 
And  shout  aloud  salvation  through  our  God. 
From  ev'ry  ship  that  ploughs  the  spreading  sea, 
The  banner  of  the  peaceful  dove  shall  stream, 
And  from  the  altar  of  the  stoutest  heart 
Shall  purest  incense  rise  to  Christ  our  King. — 
Then  come,  ye  fainting,  feeble,  blood-bought  soula, 
Come  bow  in  humble  faith  before  the  throne, 
And  there  devoutly  pray — "  Thy  kingdom  come, 
Thy  blessed,  gracious  will  be  done  on  earth, 
As  'tis  by  angels  round  the  throne  above." — 
Then  shall  prevail  the  knowledge  of  the  Lord, 
And  Jesus'  dying  love  fill  all  the  earth. 


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